Beneath the Surface
by EnchantedApril
Summary: Sequel to Saints and Saviors. The continuation of House and Cameron's relationship, as they settle into what they like to consider a normal life. EPILOGUE UP June3rd COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Here it is, at long last: the sequel to Saints and Saviors! I am currently on vacation and probably won't be able to update again until I get home, but I thought I'd at least post the prologue. I hope that everyone is still interested and that you enjoy it!

**Beneath the Surface**

**Prologue**

_Love is something difficult and it is more difficult than other things because in other conflicts nature herself enjoins men to collect themselves, to take themselves firmly in the hand with all their strength, while in the heightening of love the impulse is to give oneself wholly away._

_--R.M.Rilke_

New Jersey would probably not come from many people's mouths if asked to name the most beautiful place in America. It would probably not even fall in the top twenty. Chemical plants, long stretches of dull highway, and flatlands dotted with giant corporate buildings were the images that most immediately sprang to mind when that tiny state was mentioned. Those images belied the picturesque countryside and post-card perfect towns which made up the unseen parts of The Garden State and gave truth to its nickname. Those images would be quickly forgotten by anyone who saw Princeton in the fall.

Flame-touched leaves clung to hundred-year-old branches, and the crisp air gave people a reason to breathe deeply. Such sweet smells as bonfires, cut-grass and damp earth would not be around for much longer. On tree-lined streets, children stood patiently on the sidewalks, waiting for the busses which would take them to school. Down one particularly quiet street, a red Corvette stirred-up eddies of leaves in its wake as it sped away from the curb and headed on a path towards Princeton University and the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Doctor Gregory House was late for work, which wasn't unusual, and which rarely bothered him, but today he gunned the engine and broke the speed limit as he pulled onto the main road. His--he refused to use the word girlfriend--his _Cameron _was supposed to have a doctor's appointment and he wanted to be at the hospital by the time it was over.

It might have made more sense if he had simply gone to the appointment with her. After all, they had started the day in the same bed. But that wasn't his style. It wasn't _their _style. Instead, he would arrive, get his coffee and sit in his office with headphones on and gameboy in hand. He would be available if needed and feign nonchalance if not. At least until they left the hospital, at which point, he would badger her for information until she told him everything or told him to shut up. One or the other Probably the former.

The appointment was with the head of plastic surgery and would lead to Cameron's final decision about the scar she currently carried on her chest, the pale souvenir of the night she almost died. A night now seven months in the past. House sometimes had a difficult time believing that it had been just seven months, but this morning it felt like those months had passed in the span of a single breath.

Others at PPTH would have different thoughts on the subject. Most didn't even know that anything had changed. After nearly six months, those who did know were very good at keeping that knowledge to themselves. The first of those months had been filled with traumas that most couples only experienced in soap operas and particularly overwrought movies of the week. From dramatic beginnings, however, had come a low-key and surprisingly comfortable relationship, at least as far as House was concerned. He hadn't asked Cameron lately, but given her most recent performance in bed, he was fairly certain that she felt the same.

There were two others in the hospital who were also glad about how things had grown between the two: Cuddy and Wilson. Cuddy, because even though House was as insubordinate and impulsive as always, he was at least in a better mood most of the time. Wilson, because he was finally seeing his friend the way he'd been prior to his infarction, and also because House usually hit Cameron up for lunch instead of him.

Foreman, after initial misgivings, had taken a wait and see approach. Considering that he had no younger sisters, he was surprised at how Cameron seemed to inspire those feelings in him. He still wasn't completely comfortable with the situation but she seemed happy enough. He at least knew well enough not to voice any misgivings within earshot of either of them. He'd seen first hand how that had worked out for Chase.

The Australian had let his anger at House over the death of his father influence how he reacted to the fledgling relationship. A few verbal smack downs, from both Cameron and House, had at least taught him to keep his thoughts to himself. He could see that they both appeared happier, but he still couldn't understand it. His own attraction to Cameron didn't help matters. He just didn't see what about a bad-tempered, middle-aged cripple could possibly be an attraction for her. If he hadn't known that she'd had a crush on him before, he would have insisted that she just had some strange reverse Florence Nightingale syndrome.

As for the rest of the staff, most of the nurses had been on the receiving end of House's glares, and many of the doctors knew that House could find or invent some potentially embarrassing information about them. With those factors in play, gossip about the crotchety cripple and his attractive associate was kept to a minimum. Just the way House liked it.

He also liked the way people moved out of his way when he walked through the halls on the way to the diagnostics department. A few well placed crutch-steps ensured that people gave him a wide birth if they valued their toes. He wasn't scheduled in the clinic until that afternoon, so he didn't bother trying to evade Cuddy when he saw her coming around the corner.

"Good morning, House. In early today, I see," she said. The time was currently nine fifteen.

"Wouldn't want to miss a minute of the excitement," he replied, completely ignoring her little dig.

She gave a little sigh. Apparently her hope that Cameron would get him on her schedule was never going to come to pass. She'd seen the other doctor in the hospital at eight o'clock. Well, the diagnostics department didn't have any patients at the moment, and House wasn't due in the clinic until one, so at least he was only late for an appointment with his iPod. She was well past the point where she actually thought he'd spend his free time doing paperwork.

"Don't be late this afternoon. You know Mondays are always busiest," she felt obliged to at least make an attempt at ordering him around.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," House said with a smirk that told her she would be hunting him down at one-thirty.

He continued down the hall and Cuddy sighed and headed for her office, very grateful for the fact that most of the rest of the doctors in the hospital actually listened to her.

An elevator ride quickly brought House to his floor, and he limped along, past potted palms, chatting nurses and scurrying orderlies until he arrived at his comfortably familiar door. A steady push, and he was inside his domain, door slowly shutting behind him.

The autumn sun was filtering in through partially closed blinds, laying a pattern of stripes across his desk and floor and Cameron, who was already seated in his chair.

"I feel like I've lived this scene before," he said glibly.

"Oh good. You can tell me how it ends," she replied, crooked smile appearing and disappearing.

House glanced into the adjoining conference room and saw that neither Foreman nor Chase were there. Good. He sat down in his lounge chair and propped his cane against the wall.

"Given the fact that you're sitting in my chair waiting for me, I'm going to guess you want to talk."

"Two weeks," Cameron said flatly.

"That soon?"

"He has an opening first week of October, and if he doesn't do it then, he won't be able to fit me in until after Christmas."

"Ah… I guess a lot of hubbies probably get nose and boob jobs for their wives this time of year. The gift that keeps on giving."

She cracked another smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So."

"Yeah."

"You're ready. You want this." He searched her face, looking for tell-tale twitches and quirks before settling on her eyes.

"It's time," she said with a little shrug. "There's no reason to keep a scar that can be removed, and if I get it done now, I'll be healed before Thanksgiving and back at work. We seem to be busiest in the winter."

"Ah yes, work. Afraid the place'll fall apart without you here?"

"Maybe a little," she teased. "I had a mountain of paperwork the last time, and I still don't know how the three of you managed to break the coffee maker."

"It was poorly made, obviously."

"Obviously," she repeated, eyebrow cocked and one dimple showing.

"He's the best in the state." House shifted back to the other conversation. "Might find someone better in New York. I could call…"

Cameron was a little surprised by House's words, however grudging. He hated calling other doctors for any reason whatsoever. He hated feeling at a disadvantage, and if he was doing the calling, that meant he must need something.

"No. It's not that big a deal, really." She downplayed it because she really didn't want to think too much about the scar, how it got there, or the procedure that would remove it. Thinking of it as routine surgery was easier. Like a mole removal or a tonsillectomy.

"Sure. Whatever," he quickly agreed.

Cameron stood up, sunshine falling over her shoulder and across the right side of her face. A half-dozen steps and she was at the door. "Well. That's it. Thought I'd tell you so you didn't have to badger me later."

She knew him well.

"Right. I like to reserve that for Wilson and Cuddy."

"I have some tests I promised I'd run for the immunology department, since we're slow here," she told him, standing by his footstool and leaning against his bookcase. "Lunch?"

It was rare for them to actually make plans to eat together at work and even more rare for her to be the one to suggest it.

"Sure. You're paying."

"Of course," she said with an amused grin. "Don't I always?"

He didn't need to answer that, and a few moments later, she was walking down the hallway and his door was slowly drifting closed again.

Usually they tried not to be seen standing too close to each other in the hospital. It wasn't a conscious move on either of their parts, just something that they did instinctively. By the same token, they never ate in the cafeteria together unless Chase, Foreman, Wilson or some combination of the three were also eating with them. They didn't think much about it, it was just simpler that way.

When they did eat together, it was either in House's office, (with Cameron trotting down to get their food) or in a little café a few blocks from the PPTH. It would have been more convenient to go to the restaurant across the street, but too many other doctors went there.

It wasn't that they were hiding, but again, it was just simpler to be subtle.

Cameron was surprised, then, when House came limping down the hall in the eighth floor immunology department at five minutes to twelve. She was filling out a chart at the nurses' station and quickly scrawled her signature as he approached.

"New patient?" she asked, loud enough for the nurses to hear her.

He gave half a scowl that turned into a look of resignation. After all, this was how they'd both been playing.

"No. It's time for lunch. Ready to go?" he also spoke loudly enough for people passing by to hear.

The questioning expression on Cameron's face slid away, replaced by an arched eyebrow and very quick smile. "Yeah, I'm ready." She placed the chart back in the rack and tucked her pen into her pocket.

"Good. I'm starving." House turned and led the way to the elevator, knowing that Cameron was just a step behind him. An extra click from her heels and she was beside him, lab coat gently flapping, brushing against his leg as they walked. Holding hands without touching.

They stopped at the diagnostics department so that Cameron could grab her pocketbook and jacket.

"Clio's?" she said as they reached the elevator, naming their usual spot.

"We may be in a rut," House replied.

"But it's a nice rut. I like it," Cameron told him, answering his much earlier question about whether or not she was content.

"Yeah," he admitted, trying to make it sound grudging, but not really succeeding. "Me too."

Cameron kept her smile inside, but let her wrist brush against the back of his hand as they passed through the doors to the garage.

A few minutes later they were seating at a tiny round table, plastic trays overhanging the edge. Reuben and French fries for him, cream of broccoli soup and half a chicken sandwich for her. Cameron blew gently on a spoonful of soup and glanced up to see House staring at her.

"What?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're the one who called this little lunch meeting," he replied.

"We eat here all the time," she countered.

"We eat here all the time because at eleven thirty I get hungry and page you to get food, or you wander up from the lab and tell me I'll rot my eyes out if I play any more Metroid. We don't come here after planning it at nine in the morning."

Cameron gave a little shrug, that acknowledged the truth of his words. She wasn't that surprised that he had read something into her casual invitation. Anomalies fascinated him.

"I guess I just wanted to know where we'd both be at lunch. That we'd be together," she said, breaking crackers into her soup.

"Something happen at your appointment? Something you aren't telling me?" The words weren't said with any kind of harshness, but there was a hard look in his eye as he prepared to gauge whether or not she was telling him the truth.

"No," she assured him. "Everything was fine. He thinks it'll be a relatively easy surgery."

"Well then?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you," she said earnestly. "Maybe it's looking at it so clinically, or thinking about it so much, or maybe it's just the fact that I'm not really looking forward to being a patient in this hospital again. Maybe all of that. Maybe I just needed to feel a little closer to you and didn't want to wait until after work. Can you just accept that?"

House's face didn't register the fact that he was a little taken aback by Cameron's rapidly spoken words, but her expression showed that she was surprised to have spoken them.

"I can accept that," he said, reaching out and rubbing at the side of her mouth with his thumb. "Soup," he said when she stared at him, but they both knew there hadn't been anything there.

They finished lunch with conversation about the hospital and their plans to go to a football game on Sunday with Wilson and Julie. House was betting that they'd be going with just Wilson, but Cameron, little ray of sunshine, held out some hope that their friend and his wife could go more than two weeks without having a major blow out. House mentioned that he just found it ironic that of the two of them, he should be the one in a stable relationship.

His mouth snapped shut after those words passed his lips, and Cameron pretended to ignore his little slip, and if the corners of her mouth turned up for the rest of their meal, neither of them said anything about it. House was swallowing his last bite of sandwich when he wondered how much of a slip it had actually been, and how much had been his mind seeking to give Cameron the reassurance she seemed to need. The thought didn't seem strange or make him annoyed with himself for his perceived weakness, as it once would have. It made him feel content.


	2. Chapter 1

Here I am, back from vacation with another chapter of this story. I hope that everyone is enjoying it so far, tho' it's barely started, and I hope that it lives up to the expectations of those who wrote such wonderful comments about Saints and Saviors. Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading.

**Chapter 1**

Cameron won their little bet when Julie accompanied Wilson to the Princeton - Yale football game and even appeared to have a good time. House was actually pleased, although he wouldn't say so, and Cameron was good enough to refrain from gloating. In all, it was a pleasant end to a peaceful and relaxing weekend which failed to give any hint of the turbulence on the horizon.

To call it turbulence might actually be too strong a statement, but after the period of relative happiness, the week which followed that football game was a definite step backwards and House became more irritated each day. He hadn't wanted to settle into a routine, but he had, and having it disrupted was unacceptable, especially when it was being disrupted by the very person who was responsible for it in the first place.

Monday had started off relatively well, with Cameron giving him a kiss and a cup of coffee before she headed to the office. By that afternoon, she was withdrawn half the time and baiting Chase the other half. When a new patient was admitted she rolled her eyes when her suggestions weren't accepted during the differential diagnosis.

The man was presenting with a rash on his upper torso, gastro-intestinal bleeding and a spiking fever. Scans had shown no sign of ulcers and so far the blood tests had come back negative for cancer and x-rays hadn't revealed any tumors in the area. Cameron's suggestion of ileitis, therefore, had made little sense, and House hadn't thought twice about dismissing it out of hand.

Cameron had slept at her own apartment that night. It was the first time work invaded their personal life, and House was shocked that she was the one to cross that line in the sand.

Tuesday had been more of the same, with Cameron becoming more vocal in her displeasure when asked to run tests she didn't agree with. She even balked at talking to the man when she knew that House only used her that way when they really needed to find out information. She hadn't been that way since the very beginning of her fellowship, before she'd realized that House asking her to use her 'sickening sweetness', as he termed it, to their advantage, could actually be seen as a sign of respect for a skill he sorely lacked.

They had dinner together and she apologized, telling him that she didn't know what was getting into her. He'd been willing to let it go, which was unusual for him, and then she had claimed a headache and made him drive her home.

On Wednesday he'd actually sniped at her to stop acting like a petulant five-year old, and after opening her mouth to shout back a retort, she had snapped it closed instead. She'd been the picture of professionalism after that moment, and hadn't said more than five personal words to House. He'd spent two more nights in a cold and empty bed.

Now he was doing the unthinkable and searching for Wilson so that he could ask him for advice.

It was chilly outside but House just turned up his jacket collar as he paced the length of the wall that separated his office balcony from Wilson's. He had a new plaything in his left hand; a classic Pinky rubber ball which he bounced as he paced. House could see Wilson sitting at his desk speaking to a patient and he knew that Wilson could see him. He'd give him five minutes before he started bouncing the ball over the wall and directly at Wilson's door.

The ever-patient James Wilson could sense how much time he had before his erstwhile best friend started making a nuisance of himself. Years of experience made him particularly adept at judging that timeframe. His gaze remained steady on his patient's face while in the hazy middle distance he kept his eye on House as well. Wilson was already the chief of oncology, but he might have been given an award as well if people knew exactly how good he was at juggling both official and unofficial duties.

His patient was smiling at the news that her cancer appeared to be in remission, and he went over all of the steps required to monitor her condition. When he went to shake the woman's hand, she moved around the desk and hugged him instead. He wasn't sure if many other non-pediatric doctors received the same treatment. He would consider it an added benefit of his job if he wasn't so sure that most people would think he had ulterior motives, given his skirt-chasing reputation. In all honesty the hugs he received from his patients were some of the best he ever got, and it had nothing to do with anything of an erotic nature.

He was just giving a final wave to his patient as she walked down the hall when the sound of rubber hitting glass made him flinch. He turned around and saw House holding up his ball with a triumphant, yet irritated, look on his face. Struggling to keep from rolling his eyes, he trudged to the door and out onto the balcony.

"Some reason you've decided to grace me with your attention so early today?" he said as he strode towards the low brick wall. He'd heard all about Cameron's moodiness from Foreman so he had a good idea of what House wanted from him.

"No. Nothing in particular. Just seemed like a good day to throw the ol' ball around."

Wilson sighed. He should have known that House wouldn't just come right out and start talking about his personal life.

"So," he said, trying to helpfully steer the conversation, "I hear that Cameron's a little touchy this week."

House was staring up at the sky as if pondering how high he could bounce the ball he was currently tossing up in the air.

"Hmm? Is she? Hadn't noticed."

This time Wilson didn't contain the rolling of his eyes. "Oh come on, House. I was trying to give you an easy excuse to talk about it. It's pretty damn obvious you're here for either money or advice and since we just got paid, it can't be money."

House weighed whether or not to play out his act for a few more lines and then decided against it. He shrugged in defeat and shoved the ball into his pocket.

"Yeah, fine. She's a little moody. Obviously it has something to do with her surgery."

"Next week, right?"

"Thursday," House replied, leaning against the wall.

"Probably nerves."

"She's a doctor. What's she got to be nervous about?"

Wilson looked at House as if he'd just stated that the sky was green. "Right. Because doctors make such good patients. I can remember one in particular…" He trailed off as House glared at him. "It's different being on the other side of the knife. You know that."

"So why doesn't she just say something about it then? Why's she going through with it in the first place. No one's holding a gun to her head." Just the reference of guns in regards to Cameron made House grimace even though it had come from his mouth.

"She's not the first person to try to ignore their fears in favor of something they want."

"Yeah, well she's doing a bad job of it and it's affecting her work," he said grumpily.

Wilson didn't look convinced. "Really? Or is it just inconveniencing you? Having to deal with someone as moody as you can't be fun."

House sneered. "Har. Har. Look. You're the sweet and sensitive doc in this hospital. Maybe you could toss some of that comfort in her direction. "

"You've been dating six months. You should be having this conversation with her, not me. Unless you want to start paying me for therapy?"

The expression on House's face was the answer to that question. "I thought you liked to have me share all the intimate details of my life. Made you feel all needed."

"Not when you're using me as a buffer to avoid Cameron."

"I'm not the comforting type."

"That's why you were there for her every step of the way during the trial? Because you're so heartless?" Wilson commented with disbelief heavy in his voice. "Just talk to her."

"Oh fine, you big stinker. See if I ever do you a favor."

Wilson laughed. "I know better than to ever ask!"

House gave an impressive pout, turned and stalked back to his office.

With their patient finally responding to treatment, although they still hadn't found a definitive cause for all of his symptoms, there wasn't much left to do but wait. Waiting meant that Cuddy would be searching for him to fulfill some of his clinic hours in the interim, so House wisely left his office and went in search of a more private setting.

The roof above the west wing of the hospital was difficult to get to, but that worked in his favor. Cuddy would search there last because she knew he avoided pain almost as assiduously as he avoided work. He climbed the set of concrete stairs which was the only access to the smaller roof area and took a few breaths before using his shoulder to help push open the heavy steel door.

A sudden blast of chilly air after his exertions caused goosebumps to rise on his forearms. He tugged his jacket closed and limped towards the edge of the roof. When he glanced to his right he saw that he wasn't alone.

Cameron was staring at him, obviously having heard him opening the door. She looked slightly puzzled and the perpetually annoyed expression which had taken up residence on her face over the past several days had been replaced by one of introspection. She'd clearly had the same idea about using the roof as a hideaway where she could let her guard down. House felt like an intruder in his own clubhouse.

"I didn't know you were up here," he said sharply, intending to stave off any accusation that he was following her.

She shrugged before responding with, "No. I didn't think you did."

House was almost glaring at her, having expected some sort of retort, and Cameron released a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry I've been…"

"A bitch?"

One dark eyebrow arched upwards. "I was going to say 'difficult', but I suppose bitch fits too."

House jammed his left hand in his pocket, wishing that he'd carried his ball with him so that he'd have something to do with his hands. He walked to the edge and leaned against it, cane pressed between calloused palm and rough cement. He was telling himself that he was supposed to be talking now, but his mouth wasn't obeying. Cameron sidled towards him until they were standing side by side and looking out over the Princeton campus, a blaze of autumnal color making the view a perfect one.

"So, does surgery always make you so edgy? Not a good trait for a doctor," House quipped, the words coming out fast before he could second guess them.

Cameron knew that a smile was required and she let a quick one tilt up the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. Next I'll start fainting at the sight of blood."

They were quiet for a minute, each looking down at the passing people. Cameron wondering who they were and where they were going. House wondering if a well-aimed spitball would find its mark.

"I never had stitches when I was a kid," Cameron announced, as if that explained something.

House still said nothing. He knew her well enough to sense when she had more to say.

"Never spent any time in the hospital until my husband."

Her voice lowered at those last words and her inability to say his name. She glanced to the side, trying to tell if House found that strange or if he was going to say something in response. He was still looking out, eyes not even flickering in her direction.

"A lot of people thought I'd be even more determined to be a doctor after he died. I guess they thought I'd want to prove I could cure someone even if I couldn't cure him."

The words were pointed, and House caught their meaning easily. He had been so quick to label and catalogue her when they'd first met, and he'd been so wrong.

"Actually, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to go back into a hospital again. Then summer came, and time passed, and when classes started up again, I was still pre-med. I figured if I didn't take things personally then I'd be okay." A humorless laugh touched the cool air. "I guess I don't quite manage that all the time."

"But that's not why you've been touchy this week," House said, using Wilson's word instead of his own. "It's your own surgery that's affecting you."

"I watched someone I loved die in a hospital just like this one. Less than a year ago I was here myself, barely alive." House turned towards her when he heard the very slight waver in her voice, and she caught his eyes, trying to convey what she knew words couldn't. "I'm a good doctor, but a lousy patient."

House wasn't surprised to see the shadow of fear and shame on her face but he didn't like it. "Yeah, well that's probably true of most doctors," he said, the implication that he was among them, quite plain.

"It's just… every time I'm here as something other than a doctor…"

"He's a good surgeon and you said yourself that it should be a relatively easy procedure," he attempted to distract her with facts.

"I'm still scared," she finally admitted.

House wasn't about to tell her that he got a sick feeling in his stomach when he thought about her surgery. He certainly wasn't going to tell her that he planned on threatening her doctor with bodily harm if he let anything happen to her. He reached over and covered her hand where it still rested on top of the ledge.

"You'll be fine," he said brusquely, needing to end the conversation before he said too much. "Now let's go get some lunch before Cuddy finds us."

Cameron let House take the lead as they headed down the stairs and back to the hospital. She went slowly, allowing him to take the time he needed to balance and counterbalance as he gripped the handrail and eased down one step at a time. At the same time, she never appeared to be waiting for him and she never held out a hand to steady him. Either action would have been met with an icy glare, but they never even occurred to her. House's limitations were second nature to her now.

They reached the landing and she touched his elbow briefly, wanting to get his attention. He looked down at her with that impatient look of his just barely edged with the concern she knew he felt for her.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to apologize again. I'm sure I gave Chase plenty to complain about. He always said our relationship would affect our work," she said dourly.

"He's got nothing to complain about," House disagreed. "I never treated you any differently, I just had to suffer through three nights alone, and that's none of his damn business."

Cameron smirked, relieved at House's easy forgiveness when he was known to hold a grudge. "Suffer, eh?" she said, feeling bold enough to tease.

"Yeah. It get's cold these days and have you seen the price of oil? Having my own personal bed warmer is much cheaper."

"Ah, well as long as I'm serving a purpose," she replied.

House pulled open the door and they walked through onto the eighth floor cardiology department.

"So… I can expect you to resume those duties tonight?" It was perhaps the least romantic way ever to invite her over.

She didn't mind at all.

"I think I have to. All of my comfy clothes are at your place."

That was true. After spending every weekend and most weeknights at House's townhouse, the majority of Cameron's after-work clothing had migrated to his closet.

"You're getting pragmatic in your old age."

"You're rubbing off on me. Besides, I certainly wouldn't be coming over for any sappy romantic reason," she said with just the barest hint of a smile.

"No, we wouldn't want that."

A nurse passed by and the aura of friendly banter was replaced with one of professionalism as House and Cameron continued to walk towards the elevator.

It was later that afternoon, after another lunch at Clio's and House's subsequent capture by Cuddy when they returned, before Cameron saw him again. She was down in the lab running slides on their previous patient to check on her status, when House breezed in, casually positioning himself over her right shoulder in the way that had driven her crazy in the early days of her fellowship.

Now she loved the opportunity to feel his heat beside her and smell his tangy cologne.

"Foreman paged to tell me that Mr. Garrett's going to be transferred to the immunology department," she said, lips twitching with an unreleased smile. She knew that's what he was down there to tell her.

House let out a little huff of breath in irritation. Leave it to Foreman to spoil his fun.

"You were wrong about practically everything else, but you were right about the rash on his chest. It's an allergic reaction."

"Oh stop, the flattery will go right to my head," she said with a sarcastic lilt to her voice. "How'd you figure that out? What's he allergic to?"

"I got an idea while I was in the clinic," he said, which was also code for "I was dying to get out of the clinic". He took a half step away. "So with his girlfriend out of the room I goaded him into admitting that he'd been getting his chest hair waxed for the past six months. Didn't want the chick to think she was dating the Wolfman apparently."

"But if it was from the wax wouldn't he have been here six months ago?"

"It wasn't. Girlfriend was gone for a couple of weeks, he let it grow back, girlfriend came back early and he didn't have time to get an appointment. Used an entire bottle of Nair instead."

Cameron flinched. "That stuff's like acid!"

"Exactly, and it leeched into a cut on his stomach and caused most of his symptoms, including the rash. The rest were just reactions to an overdose of ibuprofin he took to control the pain."

Another contorted look of sympathy from Cameron. "Just to keep up appearances," she muttered. "And she probably wouldn't have even cared."

"Love equals stupidity," he stated, looking down towards his hidden scars.

"That your professional opinion, Dr. House?" Cameron asked, noting his gaze.

"Pretty much. I'll let you know if I revise it," he said, staring at their blurry images reflected in the stainless steel cabinets, and ignoring how this time Cameron was the one to have moved dangerously close with no one else to witness it.

Cameron chuckled under her breath and stepped back to her microscope.

"You're not…" he ventured, not sure how phrase it without sounding even more egotistical than usual.

"No," she replied, looking over at him. "You told me that it didn't bother you and I believed you. Just like I hope you believed me," she looked into his eyes in the dim light and was fairly sure that she saw acceptance there. "I'm doing it for me. I'm just ready to have the scar gone." She gave a little shrug. "I'd be scared no matter when I had it done,

but I know I'd want it done eventually so I guess sooner is better than later."

"I just had to make sure," he said gruffly, looking at her briefly before concentrating on the floor.

"I know," she said quietly. "Thanks."

He coughed and thumped off towards the door. "I'll cook tonight," he announced.

"Chicken Florentine?"

"Don't press your luck," he said as the glass door swung shut behind him.

Cameron smiled as she put the next slide under the microscope. She felt like she'd been pressing her luck for the past six months, but it seemed to be working for her.


	3. Chapter 2

This story has a sort of relaxed style as it flows along with what I consider would be the realistic pace of a hopefully realistic relationship. I'm so glad that so many people seem to be enjoying it. I was almost hesitant to start it, thinking that anything I could write wouldn't live up to what people expect after Saints and Saviors, and I didn't want to somehow diminish that story by writing a sequel that was subpar. SO, all that to tell you that I hope you will review and let me know if you think things are going well or if they seem out of character etc.. Thanks, as always!

**Chapter 2**

With the cool weather and colorful leaves came shorter days, and as Cameron drove through Princeton, the last of the sunlight had already faded and her headlights reflected off of a light rain that had begun to fall. House had left nearly half an hour before her so she was surprised when she pulled up outside his townhouse and didn't see his car already there.

She popped open her glove box and pulled out the unadorned key ring he had unceremoniously tossed across the office to her after three months of near-cohabitation. A more romantic woman would have immediately nestled the key next to her own. Cameron was not nearly the bright-eyed ingénue that many assumed her to be. She kept the key in her car for emergencies. Anything else would have required a leap of faith she wasn't yet ready to make, even after six months of contentment. Life had taught her just how fast things could change.

A lightly-muttered curse slipped out of her mouth when she stepped in a puddle on her short jog to the front door. The key slipped in easily and she hurried inside and turned on the lights, feeling warmer as soon as the golden tones of the room surrounded her. A shake of her head sent water droplets to the floor and she kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it carefully on the hook House had installed just for her.

She was just coming out of the kitchen with a fistful of paper towels to wipe the floor with when the door opened and House entered.

"Outta the way, outta the way. Cripple with food, coming through," he said as he limped past her, heedless of the way he was dripping all over the floor.

Cameron rolled her eyes, laughed and tossed the paper towels towards the door. She'd clean up after she persuaded him to ditch his soggy sneakers.

"What's in the bags?" she said, nosily trying to grab them from his hand.

"Food. Now get lost."

"That's a nice way to talk," she said with small pout and raised brow.

"You don't like nice. If you did, you wouldn't be with me." It was a familiar line of bantering and House's blue eyes looked out playfully from an otherwise serious face.

"Hmm. Maybe. I could always change my mind."

"Well, wait until after dinner. I bought enough for two and I hate to waste food."

"I suppose I can hold out that long. Prince Charming hasn't called me in quite a while."

House snorted and turned towards the sink, dropping the grocery bags on the counter beside it. "Prince Charming, eh? I always knew he was an idiot."

Cameron laughed again and tugged at his jacket, convincing him to relax enough for her to pull it off of him. When he reached out and pulled her close for a quick kiss, she had to control her little squeak of surprise. His random acts of affection still threw her off balance even though they'd only grown in frequency over time. His need for tactile sensation that wasn't pain related was something she hadn't suspected existed, but quietly cherished.

"Sure you don't need help?" she asked, his jacket draped over one arm, and her lips still warm from his kiss.

He waved her away. "Yes. Go away. You distract me," he said, although his tone indicated that he didn't mind the diversion. "Get changed. You look all up-tight."

"Well, some of us don't get to wear jeans and rumpled shirts to work," she scoffed, heading out of the room.

"I don't make the rules, I just break them," he shouted over the rustling of plastic as he retrieved chicken, spinach, cheese and cream from one of the grocery bags.

When Cameron returned to the kitchen and perched on one of the breakfast table chairs, she saw two chicken breasts simmering in a skillet and House rinsing spinach in the sink.

"Don't press my luck, eh?" she said coyly.

"I was in the mood," he shot back, draining the spinach and tossing it into a pot to cook. He limped over to the table and handed Cameron a glass of the white wine. He'd already started drinking his and the rest was currently bubbling around the chicken.

"Food and wine. You want something."

"Just to get into your pants," House said dryly, and it was that bland delivery that widened Cameron's smile.

"Well, keep it up and you may get lucky. This particular piece of lobby art is starved."

House turned back to the stove to hide his quick grin at the fact that she could joke now about something that had once made her seething mad.

"Go find us something to watch. It'll be a while before this is done," he said, in a failed attempt to sound grumpy.

Cameron rose to her feet with an aggrieved sigh and meandered towards the living room, letting out what could only be called a girly squeal when House tapped her on the ass with his cane as she passed by.

"Keep that up and you'll be sleeping on the sofa!" she said, spinning around, her hair fanning across her shoulders.

"You wouldn't do that to a poor old cripple," he replied, his expressive face threatening to make her laugh.

"Don't bet on it," she said, trying to sound stern.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Oh, I think I know a sure thing when I see it."

She tried to think of a clever retort but ended up just rolling her eyes, knowing when he had her beat. The rich sound of his laugh followed her out of the room, and she couldn't find it in herself to be too upset at the fact that he was right.

There were plenty of shows to choose from on the tivo, but Cameron left the remote on the coffee table and knelt down in front of the fireplace instead. It was a throw-back to the thirties with an early art-deco style mantle in aged white marble and a matching marble hearth. The metal fire screen kept any stray sparks inside but it looked like it had  
been quite a while since it anything had been burned within. There was a pile of ashes on the grate, and a pressed wood log still within its paper packaging, centered on the andirons.

Cameron stood back up and walked over to the piano, plucking the matches from their place beside House's box of cigars. She grabbed part of the Sunday paper on the way back to the fireplace, and crumpled up a few pages, shoving them around the log before striking a match and setting them alight.

She was still sitting there, with the gate open and the orange flames lighting up her face, when House limped into the room.

"That doesn't look like a top ten Nielsen pick," he said as he moved closer.

With big eyes turned upwards she let a relaxed smile complement the heat induced blush on her cheeks. House wasn't smiling back at her and her brows drew together in confusion.

"You don't mind, do you? It's just the perfect weather." She'd become so comfortable in his home that she hadn't thought about whether or not he would object.

He shook his head. "No. It's just been a while," he said.

Cameron nodded, thinking that she knew exactly how long a while.

House bent and closed the gate. "Don't want you catching fire. My homeowner's insurance doesn't cover that."

He held out his hand and Cameron stared at it dumbly for a second before taking it and letting him help her to her feet. It was no surprise to her how much strength he had in his arms, but the effortless way he guided her upwards, despite his own handicap, had her breath catching in her throat. He took advantage of her momentary speechlessness and kissed  
her deeply, tongue sweeping across her lower lip before tasting the sweetness of her mouth.

"Maybe we can share the sofa," he said, while he toyed with the hem of her shirt.

Cameron chuckled at his brazen advances. Weekends always brought out the best in him, which was something else she hadn't expected, somehow thinking that he would be gruff and surly no matter what the day. For the most part, that was true, but when they didn't have a patient, and he had those two precious days free from clinic duty, he was able to  
really relax. She wondered sometimes, what he had done with his weekends before they'd come together. She wondered if he had been as lonely as her.

"The sofa is remarkably large and comfy," she said, tearing her mind from other thoughts and concentrating on the present, and the strong, hard body pressed against hers.

House kissed her again, quickly, and then backed out of her embrace.

"Good," he said sharply. "We'll test it out later. But first, we eat." And with that, he pivoted around his cane and limped back into the kitchen.

Cameron knew that he was smirking and she wanted to be annoyed, but instead she just brushed the stray hair out of her eyes and followed after him.

The chicken Florentine wasn't quite finished, and Cameron puttered around tossing a salad together while House kept watch over the stove. Twenty minutes later and Cameron was carrying their plates into the living room, with House trailing behind, both wine glasses in one large hand.

"The fire's nice," he said as they sat down.

"I've always loved a fire," Cameron told him, "and none of my apartments ever had a fireplace."

"Well, mi fuego es su fuego"

"Gee thanks," Cameron said with a quirky twisted smile. She took a mouthful of food and leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Perfect as usual," she said, looking up at him with an expression of adoration only commonly found in people who are experiencing delicious food or exquisite sex.

"You're easy to please," he said snarkily. "Food and a fire and you're grinning like an idiot."

"Simple pleasures are the best," she countered. "I'd think the man who lives for his iPod and video games would realize that." Her smug look made him roll his eyes.

"Let's just eat so we can get to the fireside sex," he griped, but rather than annoying Cameron, House's words made her blush hotter than the fire and she turned to her food with renewed interest. She still tasted every bite, but she was much more interested in desert.

Normally when House cooked, Cameron took care of all the clean-up, and she was anal enough to need to do it immediately. This time, as soon as she saw that House was finished eating, she took both plates and set them on the coffee table. They were sitting side by side, and when she turned and fixed her eyes on his he swore he could see fire reflected in them…and it had nothing to do with the flames in the hearth.

She was rarely the aggressor, and even this time, she hesitated, waiting for him to draw her in with a hand pressed at the base of her spine and another clasping her hip. When she moved to straddle his lap, her shirt rode up, baring an inch of pale flesh, and House instantly rubbed his thumb over it, feeling her stomach muscles tremble and feeling arousal and pride sharing space in his body. He was a miserable cripple to the rest of the world, but he could still make this woman moan.

Their movements, though hurried, were not desperate. They both knew their needs would be met, and there was no reason to fumble and rush. Long, luxurious kisses were far preferable to clashing teeth and bruised mouths. They'd had their times when that had been necessary, but this was not one of them.

The fire crackled in front of them, throwing heat onto already combustible bodies, and clothing was tugged and unbuttoned and tossed away to be found sometime the next morning. Cameron's soft skin against House's firm muscles made both of them clench in anticipation and then his hand was in her hair and her tongue was in his mouth and she was moving to position herself just right.

A sigh and a moan and a deep, throaty growl, and they moved together in a familiar rhythm that matched their heartbeats. His long fingers touched hidden places while her inner muscles clutched and pulsed, and they both sighed and let rarely spoken words drop from their lips. Faster and harder and low words turned to incomprehensible groans and breathy cries before her head fell forward onto his shoulder and he barely noticed when her knee pressed against his injured thigh because his head was thrown back and he was feeling nothing but the sweetness of her body surrounding and covering him.

Minutes later, and he was the one covering her with a throw blanket from the back of the sofa. He sat with her head resting on his left thigh, and her face bathed in the firelight. His hand rested on her hair but he didn't stroke it, he simply felt its softness beneath his palm and the warmth of her shoulder below. She was right. It was the perfect time for a fire.

* * *

Even fully satiated from making love, House couldn't drift off to sleep in front of the crackling flames. His thigh was throbbing from where it had been knocked, and sitting upright was never the most comfortable position for it. He had watched Cameron's eyes slide closed, twice jerking open as she struggled to stay awake. Now she was snoring gently, just the slightest rumble of air through her mouth. 

House needed his pills, and they were inconveniently located in the pants which were currently strewn on the floor in front of the sofa. He had needed them ten minutes ago and was mildly disturbed at the fact that he had been loathe to wake Cameron in order to get them. Normally, such niceties were not a part of their relationship. They bantered, and he lobbed one-liners at her, and she either returned them or put on her stoic face. She was the thoughtful one, while House maintained his unremittingly selfish and domineering ways, the majority of the time.

Suffering pain so that Cameron could grab a nap was not his usual routine.

He blamed the fire and the sex and the fact that Cameron hadn't been sleeping and needed her rest if he wanted her to be in a better mood. That made his current kindness ultimately selfish in nature, and he could live with that. He could live with it even though he knew it was only half the truth. Wilson had once said of Cameron, that you couldn't be around that much nice without getting some of it on you. House now had to admit that it appeared to be true. His only consolation was the fact that being around all his sarcasm seemed to have rubbed off on her as well. He still adamantly refused to admit that he had changed.

He was still refusing to admit it when a sharp twinge stabbed into his decimated thigh muscle.

The grunt of pain and involuntary muscle spasm roused Cameron from her light sleep and she rolled her head back to look up at House's face. The firelight caught the tight planes of an expression of near-agony and her stomach twisted. Still lying on her side, she reached down over the edge of the sofa and grabbed House's pants. The tell-tale rattle was muffled but present as she pulled them to her chest and rummaged for the pills. House took them from her as soon as she'd pulled them free, and he quickly swallowed down two.

Ignoring his pain was what Cameron usually did. He didn't like it when she made any allowances for it or for his leg. It was one thing to use it as a ploy to get out of work or get a reaction from people or to joke about it, but if he didn't blatantly mention it, then it meant that he wanted to ignore it and he expected everyone else to as well. He was surprised when she rolled onto her back and reached up to touch his jaw.

"You shouldn't have let me fall asleep," she said, large eyes quietly admonishing him.

"True, but I figured you'd pay me back later," he said, waggling his eyebrows and pulling himself into character.

Her mouth pursed into an exasperated pout and she kept her eyes fixed on his until he looked away.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "You looked… peaceful. It was nice." The misanthropic part of his brain was bitch-slapping the rest of it and his expression went through several permutations of annoyance before reaching acceptance. He was forty-five damn years old, and keeping the bastard mask in place all the time was exhausting. That didn't make him weak.

Despite the fact that she'd been hoping he'd say something more revealing, Cameron's eyes still widened at House's frank honesty. "How's the leg?" she asked, taking another risk.

"I'll live," he replied, only slightly grumpy.

Cameron stretched out a hand to snag House's button-down shirt from the back of the sofa. She sat up, letting the blanket he had covered her with fall around her waist, and slipped the shirt on, her hands nearly hidden by the long sleeves. She was looking at him again, and although House prepared to launch a snide remark if he saw any sympathy in her eyes, there was none to see.

He only saw her normal kindness reaching out to cover him, and he switched his gaze to the fireplace because as good as that look made him feel, it also made him just a little uncomfortable. Unworthy, even after the numerous little arguments where she'd vehemently denied that was the case. He had a feeling, after a moment's silence, that Cameron was thinking of starting another one, but then she patted his knee and stood up without mentioning it.

"I'll go fill the tub. A bath'll relax you before we go to bed," she said, and House followed her path with his eyes, the curve of her bottom, barely concealed by his shirt.

"It'll be even more relaxing if it's a bath for two," he called after her lecherously, needing to get a little control back.

Her voice floated out to him sweetly. "If you're a good boy, maybe you'll get what you wish for."

He grabbed the discarded blanket, slung it around his hips, and limped down the hall to find her.

An hour an a half later, House was comfortably spread out in bed, blankets covering his half-naked and still damp body. He heard Cameron in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, and kept his eyes open, waiting for her to join him.

The bath had been more comforting than sensual, with Cameron settled at one end of the tub with her hair pinned up, and him at the other, head resting on an inflatable pillow. He'd claimed the terrycloth covered thing was too girly for his bathroom but now he used it more than she did. The warm water had helped his leg, and when Cameron had taken a chance and massaged the tender muscle, he'd actually groaned in relief. Then he had splashed her to cover his slip-up and, not one to back down from a fight, Cameron had responded in kind. Several minutes and a gallon of water later, she'd ended up snuggled against his chest with him claiming that she was a cheat for threatening to dump her flower-scented shampoo on his head.

In bed, House propped himself on his elbow and watched the shadows cast in the doorway as Cameron moved around the bathroom. No doubt she was busy mopping up that gallon of water. When she emerged a few minutes later, her skin was glowing with a warm blush from the bath, and tendrils of hair curled around her neck, spilling free from the light twist on the top of her head.

She barely glanced at him as she moved past the bed and towards the hallway.

"Hey, where d'you think you're going?" House grumped lightly. "The bed's getting cold."

"Dishes. They're still in the living room," she answered simply.

"Dishes?" He was incredulous. "I think they'll still be there in the morning."

"With food cemented on to them. No thanks. I'll do them now."

House rolled his eyes. "Just come to bed and I'll do them tomorrow."

Cameron gave a hearty laugh. "Right. Like the time you said you'd pick up my dry-cleaning if I beat you home and got naked?"

"It slipped my mind. You, naked, takes up a lot of brain space."

She looked at him from under raised brows and didn't bother dignifying that with a response. House flopped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Some things never changed, and Cameron's perfectionism was one of them. By the time she returned he was on his back, one arm flung over his head, other curled next to her pillow, eyelids twitching as he dreamed.

Cameron smiled as she walked into the room and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, an action he would have batted away, had he been awake. She climbed into bed and curled on her side facing him.

"Sweet dreams, House," she whispered, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. "See you in the morning."


	4. Chapter 3

A nice long chapter with a lot of stuff in it! Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, and also to those who aren't reviewing but are simply reading and enjoying... I know that sometimes it can be a pain to think of stuff to say in a review! Criticism and corrections are most welcome, as well as notes about whether or not you think things are in-character and realistic. Thanks again!

**Chapter 3**

"Differential diagnosis, people!"

It was Monday morning and a new patient had shown up like a kitten abandoned on the doorstep. In this case, the "kitten" in question was a twenty-two year old man with tremors, decreased vision, vomiting, and headache.

Chase let out bored sounding sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Sounds like a hang-over to me."

House glared at him, his expression one of exasperation. "Yeah, I'm sure Cuddy's so desperate to put us to work that she's sending us frat boys." He turned from Chase to the others. "Next!"

"Decreased vision and tremors indicate something neurological," Foreman said, always glad when something fell under his area of expertise.

"Or it could be some sort of poisoning," Cameron suggested. "Do we know where he's been? What he's eaten?"

"What about a viral infection? Bacterial meningitis?" Chase attempted to redeem himself.

"Ah, looks like you didn't pull that diploma out of a box of cracker jacks after all," House said with an exaggerated grin. "You can talk to Senor Upchuck and see where he's been and what he's done lately. Foreman and Cameron, go schedule him for an MRI. Check for tumors, aneurysm, evidence of stroke, the usual suspects. I'll be in my office downloading the latest Jack Johnson album onto my iPod."

That said, he gave a cheeky wink to the all and limped out of the conference room, shutting his office door firmly as he passed through.

"Well, good to know he'll be spending the time productively," Chase said without any real animosity. He pushed back his chair and headed out of the room as well. "I'll see you two down at the MRI."

Foreman grabbed another cup of coffee while Cameron gathered up the patient's file, and the two of them walked towards the elevator and the imaging department. He glanced over at her as they stood waiting in front of the sliding steel doors. His gaze was appraising, as he judged whether or not to speak.

"You're in a better mood today," he said as the elevator arrived and they stepped inside. "Good weekend?" The last remark was slightly teasing.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Yes. Very relaxing," she replied, not giving him any more to work with.

"Good, so that means you won't be turning psycho on us again this week?"

"I wasn't that bad," she insisted, surprised that she was able to laugh about it. She was always so concerned about how everyone else at the hospital saw her, so intent on being taken seriously.

"Nah, you weren't that bad," Foreman agreed. "But it's still nice to see you smile. I thought I was gonna have to give House a talking to."

She laughed again. "He would have nailed you in the shin with his cane if you'd tried," she told him. "And anyway, you know my mood didn't have anything to do with him."

"So it is your surgery that had you all wound up." He verified what he'd already guessed.

"What can I say… I hate hospitals," she said with a shrug.

"Yeah, well you've got a good reason," he said, as the elevator settled and the doors opened.

"Still shouldn't have let it affect my performance here."

"I wouldn't say it was your performance it affected… just your attitude," he said with a jokingly smug smile.

"Glad you were so amused." She went along with the teasing because she knew it was his way of playing brother.

He chuckled lightly. "Last week I was a little scared of you. This week I'm just glad you're back to your old self."

"Me too," she said, falling into step with him as they neared the MRI rooms.

The weekend of relaxation had allowed her to push her fears to the back of her mind, but she could admit to herself that they weren't entirely gone. She just intended to do a better job of hiding them this time.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully as the diagnostics team ruled out a stroke and attempted to see what sort of toxin their patient might have eaten or otherwise been exposed to. When Chase suggested lead, it was at first scoffed at by Foreman, but then House latched onto the idea and ordered more blood work.

That call by Chase proved to be correct and House actually offered a grudging and half-insulting congratulations.

Chelation therapy was started and they could only wait to see if the man would suffer permanent brain damage. He'd slipped into a coma and his family kept vigil through the night. By morning he'd regained consciousness and they were able to run a few simple tests that afternoon which seemed to indicate that he would make a full recovery, although it would be weeks before he was able to leave the hospital.

That relatively happy ending should have put Cameron into an even better mood, but she was embarrassed to admit that she had hoped that it would take longer to diagnose him. It would have kept her mind busy until her surgery. Instead, she shocked Chase by offering to do his clinic hours, and kept herself floating between the clinic and Immunology. House didn't even bother asking her to join him for lunch.

She kept up a good show of being her usual helpful and caring self, but House noticed how much quieter she became, and Foreman was careful not to mention her upcoming surgery when their paths crossed. House was unusually mum about the subject as well. If she had been anyone else, he would have been prodding her about it to get a reaction and force her to face up to her fears.

By Wednesday afternoon, he had decided to stop holding back.

She was in the clinic when he found her filling out a chart at the nurses' station. He limped up behind her with the sound of his cane giving him away.

"You'd better run. Cuddy's been looking for you."

"And I've been looking for you," House said, leaning against the counter and stealing her pen.

"Hey!"

"You were supposed to check in upstairs fifteen minutes ago."

She had been ready to slap him in the chest with the chart, but instead her mouth formed a thin line across her face and her arm dropped to her side.

"It isn't five o'clock yet," she said, knowing that her argument was weak.

"Right, and you were supposed to check in at four-thirty. Plastics called the department looking for you."

"You could always tell them you couldn't find me," she tried joking but it was only half-hearted.

"Get upstairs, Cameron," House said firmly, grabbing the chart from under her hand. "You finished all my charting. You organized the office. You filed everything that wasn't nailed down. You're scheduled for a five a.m. surgery and you need to check in. Now go get your bag and get your pretty little ass to the fifth floor."

Cameron didn't say anything and House lightly touched her arm with the chart, making her meet his eyes. "You said you were ready for this," he said gruffly.

"I know. I am," she told him. She forced her voice into a lightness she didn't quite feel, although House's strong presence before her was helping. "You could come tuck me in before you leave."

He raised one eyebrow. "Well, I've never actually had sex in the hospital before. Could be fun."

Cameron's laugh was a little bit nervous but at least it was there, and she turned from him and started towards the elevators. She knew that House had only been kidding about the sex, but maybe she'd at least get a kiss before he headed home. She knew she wouldn't get much sleep alone in a sterile hospital room, but it would be nice to have the memory of his kiss to keep her company in the dark.

* * *

He had known that his townhouse would feel cold without Cameron in it lounging on the sofa, helping in the kitchen, or pestering him to shut off the light and sleep. They weren't living together after all, and he'd spent most of the previous week without her in his bed, so he was quite familiar with being there alone. Knowing all that didn't change the way his breath caught in his chest when he opened his door and was greeted only by the echoing sound of it striking the rubber-tipped doorstop. He often arrived home before her, but for some reason the place never seemed that cold when he knew she was only half an hour behind him. 

Limping over to the piano, he poured himself a full glass of scotch, not even bothering with the ice. She might have given him that tiny frown of hers if she'd been there, but she wasn't, and he wanted to at least blur the image of her in her hospital room. He knew he wouldn't be able to completely purge it from his mind.

The paleness of her skin against the paleness of the stiff hospital sheets had been unexpected, along with the instant flood of memories which had accosted him when he'd seen her looking smaller than she should in a bed that was only half the size of his. Her eyes had been wide and grateful, but she'd made a joke at his expense, knowing that anything else would make him uncomfortable.

Naturally, he hadn't been able to let her get away with that, and he'd thumped over to her bedside with caustic remarks tripping off his tongue about how she really needed to get a tan and put on a few pounds and quit hogging all the attention. When she'd grabbed his hand, his first urge should have been to pull away, but instead he'd found himself holding on so tightly that she made a little sound of protest and teased him about not knowing his own strength. He'd only loosened his grip enough to allow circulation back to her fingertips.

Her dinner had been brought in a few minutes later, at precisely five-thirty, and he'd snagged her pudding and scarfed it down in four bites before she could make more than a feeble protest. She'd only picked at the rest of the food, mashed potatoes that weren't as good as her own, and something pretending to be chicken marsala. He had grown fidgety as she'd eaten and had finally stood up and paced around, checking the chart that hung on the bed before grabbing the remote control and flipping through all of the channels twice. She'd stopped him when he was part-way through a third round. Her quiet voice telling him that he should go home and relax had the irritating effect of making him feel like crap. Apparently his bedside manner still left a lot to be desired.

He'd assured her that she would be fine, and she had told him that she knew that, and that she'd see him when it was all over. She'd made another joke about knowing he wouldn't be up in time to see her go into surgery, and he'd quickly replied that the surgery would have to be a hell of a lot more serious to get him out of bed before eight. Her laugh hadn't been genuine, but at least she'd smiled. A quick kiss was all he'd allowed, just a brush of lips and a soft touch against her cheek. He'd left the room without saying anything else.

The scotch in his glass seemed to have the power to mesmerize, and he stared into it as he sunk down onto the piano bench. He started playing Chopin's Nocturne Op9, No2 without even realizing it.

* * *

The sun wasn't yet over the horizon, but fluorescent light made Cameron's room as bright as day, and her eyes were bright and alert. She'd been awake since before five, and she tried keeping up a steady flow of chatter with the nurses to keep herself calm. She'd already changed out of her comfortable pajamas and into a thin hospital gown, and the anesthesiologist, Dr. Eganhoff, was there now. He told her that they were almost ready for her, and prepared to start her on lactated Ringer's solution before her move to the OR. Normally, introductions would have been required, but she'd worked with him before. She asked him how his new baby was doing. 

Everyone was moving in a rhythmic, easy-going manner, as they went through the pre-op procedures the same way they did every day. Cameron wished that she was as relaxed as they were. She drew ina breath and looked away, out of habit, when the needle for the IV was inserted. When the door opened she looked over in that direction, expecting to see another nurse or an orderly.

"You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning."

"Wilson? What are you doing here?" she asked, happy to see a more familiar face.

"I've got a surgery at seven, so I figured I'd stop by and see how you're doing," he replied, leaving out the part about House calling him at midnight and demanding that he check on her in the morning. "Lovely new jewelry you've got there," he joked, indicating the numerous hospital bands around her right wrist.

"Yeah. They go with everything." She felt herself becoming slightly more relaxed.

The door opened again, and this time it was an orderly, ready to wheel her down to the operating room. Wilson stepped aside, and Dr. Eganhoff gave Cameron's knee a little pat.

"Ready, Allison?"

She nodded and replied in the affirmative before turning back to Wilson and saying, "I know he sent you. Tell him thanks, okay?"

An expression of admiration settled on his face as he considered that Cameron was more than smart enough to see through House's feigned disinterest.

"Yeah, I'll tell him," he said. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He watched while the nurse and orderly transferred Cameron to the gurney and wheeled her out of the room. Once they were gone, he took out his pager and typed a quick message, sending it on to House. He knew the other man would already be awake and probably pacing his apartment, waiting for the right time to put in an appearance.

Cameron kept up a stream of light conversation and counted the lights on the short trip from her room to the fifth floor operating room. Two sets of swinging doors and they were inside, the dim illumination designed to put patients at ease.

"Dr. Paulson is just scrubbing in now," Dr. Eganhoff told her as they helped her from the gurney to the operating table. "I'm going to give you the fentanyl now, and once you're out, we'll get you intubated and ready to go."

"Ready when you are," Cameron replied, lying back on the cold, hard surface and trying to remember that it would be over in a few hours.

The nurse, Linda, draped a heated blanket over her just as she started to tremble from the cold, and moved to her right as Dr. Eganhoff first placed an oxygen mask over Cameron's mouth and nose, and then injected the strong sedative.

"Just relax, Dr. Cameron," she said, "We'll take good care of you."

The dizziness was first to strike, and Cameron's eyes struggled to focus on Linda's face, but found it impossible. Next was the weakness in her limbs, and the suddenly desperate need to move. She felt claustrophobic and trapped within her own body and the hot plastic smell of the mask. Her eyes were darting around, and she felt Linda's hand on her arm.

"You're fine," she said, "you're just fine."

But Cameron didn't feel fine. She felt panicked, and at the same time foolish for being so scared, and she wanted House there holding her hand, but her mind was getting muddled and she couldn't quite understand why he would want to be, and with one more deep breath things cleared for an instant and she remembered that he loved her, and her eyes fell closed as the drug took over.

* * *

Cuddy couldn't argue with success, but if given the choice she would have preferred to find a more repeatable method of getting House in the clinic than putting Dr. Cameron through surgery. He'd seen twenty patients in five hours and the head nurse had even reported that he was being somewhat personable, or at least not provoking any of the patients into threatening lawsuits. 

She checked her watch while reaching for another ream of paperwork needing her signature. Damn. She was late for a meeting. This was what happened when she couldn't keep a secretary.She smoothed back her hair with one hand and stood up, straightening her suit and preparing herself for a long and boring few hours of financial talk.

As she left her office, she swung by the clinic admittance desk and checked the schedule. House was still on duty. She was definitely going to have to send Cameron an extra-large floral arrangement. She wondered, high heels clicking along polished linoleum, if House knew just how very predictable he was in his efforts to be unpredictable.

The elevator doors opened, and she smiled at Wilson, who was buttoning up his lab coat and rubbing hands made dry by too much anti-bacterial soap.

"How'd your surgery go?"

"Fine," he answered. "Great, actually." He didn't bother with specifics, knowing that she didn't have the ability to keep track of every patient in the hospital. It was enough work just managing the problem cases… most of which ended up being House's.

"And Cameron's?" she asked, knowing that he had to be coming to the clinic to give House an update.

He stepped out of the elevator and held the door while she got on. "They're just finishing up now. She'll be in recovery in a few minutes."

"Well, I guess that ends his record-long stint in the clinic," she replied with a smirk. "It was nice while it lasted." She paused for a second and her mouth widened into a conspiratorial grin. "I don't suppose you'd consider waiting a half an hour to tell him? I've gotten almost six straight hours out of him."

"It's _House_," Wilson replied. "I value my scrotum, thanks."

Cuddy gave an look of disappointment mixed with disgust and Wilson laughed and let the doors close, then turned and headed off to find the doctor of the hour.

Normally, House would have been easy to track down; simply follow the sound of yelling patients and crying nurses The clinic was oddly silent, however, and Wilson had to stop and ask Teri, the head nurse, what exam room House was currently in. He only had to wait outside exam room two for a minute until the door opened and a woman walked out carrying a prescription and a little bag of medication samples. Wilson's eyes widened. House never gave out the free stuff. He generally considered drug reps to be the minions of the devil.

Swinging into the room just seconds after the woman left, Wilson stared at his friend.

"Was that a freebie bag I saw in her hand?"

"She's got migraines. We had meds," House said, scribbling something unreadable on the chart in his hand. "Problem?"

"No," Wilson replied, shaking his head incredulously, "just that the bowels of hell must have frozen over during lunch."

House rolled his eyes dramatically. "Okay, look. I don't like giving out free pills because it gives the free pill people an edge. Well, I had all different brands this time, and I gave all of them to her and told her to try 'em all. Equal opportunity is what it's all about. That's what Foreman would say."

Wilson chuckled and crossed his arms as he watched House finish whatever notes he was making and close the folder. He wisely kept his mouth shut about the fact that House was making notes at all.

"Anyway, she's poor and didn't have insurance."

"Aww, so I was right. Cameron is rubbing off on you."

He didn't know that House had been chastising himself for that very fact just two days earlier. If he had, then House's force-ten glare would have been even less of a surprise.

"Giving her free pills means the drug companies lose out. Sometimes even I have to do something nice to do something mean," House replied, snideness firmly in place. He limped towards Wilson and poked him with his cane. "But speaking of little miss nice…" His tone was still strident but the look in his eyes gave him away.

"They're taking her to recovery right now," Wilson told him. "She should be back in her room within the hour."

House quickly pushed past him and Wilson jogged to keep up, catching the chart House tossed towards the nurses' station and handing it over to Teri. A look passed between them, and Teri went to sign House out on the clinic timecard.

"House. House! Wait up," Wilson called out. "They're not going to let you in there." The look House shot in his direction made him hold up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, maybe they'll let you in if you look at them like that. Sheesh. I'm the good guy, remember?"

Wilson boarded the elevator with House and pushed the button for the fifth floor. He took in House's tapping cane and darting eyes and smiled to himself.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to stare at cripples?" House snapped.

Without saying anything, Wilson switched his gaze to the glowing numbers above the door. He knew he was missing out on a prime teasing opportunity, but he was a good enough friend to not take advantage of it. When the elevator arrived on the Cameron's floor, he stayed where he was, leaning against the stainless steel handrail.

"What, you're not coming?" House asked when he stepped out and realized that Wilson wasn't following him.

Wilson shook his head. "I think you've got it covered, and I've got a patient," he said, and the look of gratitude from House was not lost on him.

House didn't need an audience to his shows of humanity.

The hallway was relatively empty, considering that it was the middle of the day, and that actually made House uneasy. For once, he wanted to see some people so that he could glare at them and make it clear that nothing affected him. No, he wasn't there because he cared. He was just there because he happened to be passing by. Affection had nothing to do with it. Certainly he hadn't been worried about anything.

Down the hall, around the corner, past a nurses' station and straight into the recovery room. House didn't break stride, even when a nurse finally tried to question him as he speed-limped past her desk. The recovery room held three beds, separated by curtains and staffed by at least two nurses any time there was a patient in residence. They checked their patients' vitals every five minutes as they recovered from anesthesia and gradually became aware of their surroundings. At the moment only two of the beds were occupied, and one of the nurses was passing from one curtain area to the other when she saw House walk in.

"Hey, you can't just walk in here," she said, keeping her voice low, but loud enough to be heard clearly over the oxygen machines and monitors.

"Sure I can. I've got a free pass. Just ask Dr. Cuddy," House quipped.

"Look, I know who you are, Dr. House, but friends and relatives are not allowed in here, and neither of these people is your patient." The nurse in charge was a middle-aged woman who had been around even longer than House, and although she knew his reputation, she was one of the few who wasn't scared by it.

"Look, I'm here and I'm not leaving. Go call security if you want me out," House demanded, tired of playing games.

He pushed past her and looked in at the first bed. Male. Asian. Not Cameron. When he brushed aside the next curtain he saw the woman he'd been looking for. She was lying very still except for the continuous involuntary trembling which gripped her body despite the warming blankets covering her. House moved quickly to the heart monitor and checked the read out. Normal. The oxygen levels were also normal, and he glanced at her chart and saw that the last check of her vitals had shown them within the standard acceptable ranges.

"She's too damn cold!" he shouted, not caring if he disturbed the nearly senseless man five feet away. "Bring another blanket. What was her temp when they brought her in here?"

The second nurse on duty appeared in the break in the curtains. She was slightly more intimidated by the Dr. House she'd only heard rumors about.

"Well?" he demanded. "What was it? Why'd they extubate if she's still this cold?"

"It was 96.5 when she got here. That's high enough to manage without a vent," she told him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," House griped. "Fine. Just get another damn blanket in here."

She hurried off, and House stepped closer to Cameron's bed. He hadn't thought that he would need to touch her. It was more his style to just check the medical aspects, bark some orders and leave. When he saw that his left hand was drifting towards her face, he didn't stop it.

Her skin was cold, and the oxygen mask covered the lower part of her face so he could only stroke a bare inch of skin along her cheekbone. An IV was delivering fluids along with painkillers and a mix of drugs that were busy counteracting the anesthesia. House watched as her eyelids began to flutter. She was coming around.

Behind closed eyes, Cameron could just make out patches of light, but her ears caught more: the sounds of voices and the insistent droning of hospital equipment. She wanted to open her eyes and see where she was, but her senses were coming back piece-meal and even her eyelids wouldn't obey her. Now she felt something against her cheek, and she became more aware of her body, and then of the pain that encompassed her chest.

Her muscles were coming back under her control, and she jerked her arm and let out a sound of dismay at the pull she felt in the crook of her elbow. She was hurt. Something had happened. She was cold. She kept hearing that voice near her ear and she felt her body trembling harder, the pain in her chest becoming more acute as she rose through the fog that clouded her mind.

With more effort than she thought possible, she wrenched her eyes open, and saw stark white light and blue curtains and then House's face floating above her. Her chest hurt, and she couldn't remember why that would be. The surgery. Right. Or had that even happened? Her mind was whirling and her brow furrowed in concentration. She and House. They were together. Or was that a dream? She'd been shot. That was it. Was this her first time in the hospital? Or the second? Why wasn't House saying anything now? She needed to know what was going on and she couldn't remember and she couldn't focus, and House was just staring down at her, and she could feel tears forming over her eyes, and her throat growing tight.

The scratch of whiskers against her face felt so familiar. The smell of his cologne and the feel of his hot breath in her ear settled her pounding heart. Her eyes were squeezed shut again, but she heard him talking to her.

"You're all right, Cameron. Easy. Relax. You're almost awake." There was a moment of silence save for the machines, before more words rumbled free from his chest. "I love you."

She breathed deeper, the oxygenated air sweet in her mouth, and heard a shout of, "Where's that damn blanket?" before a warm weight settled over her legs. The shaking was beginning to subside and she opened her eyes as everything clicked back into place in her mind.

"Love you, too," she murmured from behind the plastic mask, watching House's serious expression turn into a half-crooked smile. It vanished quickly, but she'd seen it, and his hand on her forearm didn't move even when a nurse came in to check on her.


	5. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait between chapters... bit of a busy week/weekend for me. I hope you enjoy this one. Let me know if anything is too OOC, etc. Thanks!

**Chapter 4**

Cameron was awake, but still woozy, when she was wheeled back to her private room and transferred into the bed that would be hers for the next four days. She might have tried to remain more alert if she hadn't known that House was right next to her, snappishly making demands and asking all of the right questions. Clarity of mind gradually returned, and when it did, it focused on the image of House watching television while sitting in one of the less than comfortable chairs, with his bad leg resting on another. The first thought that sprang to mind was about how nice it was not to be alone.

She cleared her throat and it still felt sore and scratchy from the intubation. House heard her and swiveled his head towards her.

"You're looking a little more with it," he commented. "You're loaded with Demerol. I wasn't sure you'd really come around for a few more hours."

Squinting her eyes, she looked at his left wrist as if there was any way she'd be able to tell the time from a distance of two feet.

"It's about two-thirty," he told her, standing up and pouring a cup of water for her.

She thanked him and took a few sips.

"Do you know how it went?" she asked, a little bit anxious to hear.

"Just like clockwork. Paulson stopped by a few minutes after they wheeled you in here."

"And he told you even though you're not a relative?" she asked, with a hint of that cheekiness which emerged from her every so often.

"I have ways of making people talk," House replied, eyebrows animating his expression. "He said he was able to get out a lot of the scar tissue, and made the incision neater and straighter. You may want to get laser scar removal treatments once everything is completely healed, but it'll be a lot less noticeable even if you don't."

A quiet nod was her response before saying, "I knew it wouldn't disappear."

"Yeah, well at least now it doesn't look like a drunken one-eyed pirate took a scalpel to you," House said, the bitter self-recrimination he'd been so good at containing infused every word he spoke.

"House," she warned lightly.

"Sorry."

A tiny smile lit her eyes. "I was going to say that you always told me you hardly noticed it.

Well, damn. House's eyes took on a rarely seen deer-in-headlights look. "I don't," he said quickly. "Didn't. Won't. Whatever," he continued, back-pedaling rapidly.

Cameron held up one hand to stop him. "I understand," she said. "But I didn't know you still felt guilty." The little crease between her eyes grew deeper as she scrunched her eyebrows together.

"I did what I had to do," he said with an air of detachment. "Doesn't mean I don't wish I hadn't done a better job." Her scar had never bothered him in the way she'd thought it might. He never saw her as marred or imperfect because of it. However, he had always regretted that he'd done what he considered a slip-shod job of it.

"Saved my life," she said easily. "I'd say that's a good enough job."

House looked at her serene expression and stared into her eyes for a second. Time to push past guilt and just get on with life.

"Well yeah, I don't regret that part," he said, allowing a smug grin to pull at his mouth.

Cameron started to laugh, but the pain in her chest turned it into a muffled groan instead. She tugged at her blanket and gown and looked down at the dressing and compression bandage which covered her chest. With delicate fingers she pressed down in various locations, testing her sensitivity and wincing. House reached over and adjusted the flow of Demerol into her system.

"Quit that," she admonished, making vague swatting motions in his direction.

"You're in pain," he argued.

"I can handle it. I'm not ready to sleep again yet."

House frowned and Cameron looked at him beseechingly.

"Don't bring those puppy-dog eyes into it," he told her. "I hate those."

"I was disoriented when I woke up," she said, attempting to explain. "I just want to get my mind firmly in reality before I let the drugs take over again."

He was still frowning but he made a grunting sound which was apparently meant to be acceptance. His own experience with hospitalization was not so long ago that he'd forgotten how unsettling and frightening it could be.

"Want me to put on HGTV?" he asked, grumbling, but naming a cable station he knew she liked and one which he frequently ruined by snarking about every show on it.

She let her head loll against the pillows and House hated that. She looked tired and weak, adjectives that he didn't like to associate with her. He made himself forget that when he'd first met her, he'd assumed her to be a fragile flower of a girl, completely lacking in the iron will he'd discovered inside that delicate exterior. Still waters ran deep…and strong.

"You don't have to torture yourself like that," she said with a smile.

"Eh, nothing else is on now anyway." He switched the channel as he spoke.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" she asked, somewhat facetiously.

House gave her a smug look. "Cuddy got her daily blood from me this morning."

He looked about to say more, but a nurse came into the room and he slumped in his chair and tried to make himself look grouchy and mean. The nurse shook her head slightly before attending to Cameron, checking her vitals, changing the IV of fluids and asking what she thought she'd want for dinner. In ten minutes she was gone, and House's demeanor adjusted accordingly.

Cameron fixed him with an understanding look. "You don't have to baby-sit me. I'll be fine. It'd just be nice if you stopped by before you leave."

The fact that she was so ready to accept the fact that being publicly caring was not in his character struck House in a strange sort of way. On the one hand, he was grateful that she knew his limitations, but on the other, he was again dismayed at the level of callousness he must have previously displayed to drive her to that level of acceptance. Ordinarily that sort of lop-sided relationship wouldn't have bothered him. Hell, he'd been taking advantage of Wilson's generous nature for years. Yet things had changed. Changed against his will, but changed nonetheless. To the rest of the world he wanted to remain the heartless bastard, but not to Cameron.

The grating sound of metal on linoleum made him flinch as he scooted his chair closer to the bed.

"Nah," he said, "I think I'll stick around." His eyebrows moved in an impressive display of dexterity as he made a goofily hungry face. "Might be some more pudding you'd rather not eat."

A light, gentle laugh was her response, and the smile remained on her face when he settled his hand over hers on the bed, as if that just happened to be the most convenient place to put it.

* * *

Four days after surgery, and Cameron was not only perfectly well aware of her surroundings, but perfectly sick of them. She was no longer connected to any IVs or machines, and her compression bandage had been changed for a normal light dressing, but she was still in the hospital, and was just hoping that she hadn't alienated House so much that he wouldn't drive her home when she was released at noontime. 

He had been more supportive than she'd imagined possible, and had spent the majority of the weekend and all non-clinic hours on Friday either in her room or text-messaging her on her pager. He hadn't been overtly affectionate to her, and he'd been downright rude to any nurses who dared enter while he was in attendance, but he'd been there, which was more than she'd expected.

It had been strange, and she hadn't been prepared.

She'd been ready for the pain of the surgery and the pain of going through flashbacks of the horrible situation that had made it necessary. She'd even braced herself for the inevitable frustration of knowing that she now had weeks of healing to look forward to. She'd been prepared to be strong and push through all that, and she'd been unconsciously relying on the hours of solitude she would have to let herself go so that she would be able to keep herself collected when House was around. She'd been planning to accept whatever House offered and to know in her heart that he cared for her.

Having him beside her much of the time had not been part of that plan. It had required that she hold it in when she was in pain, because she didn't want him worrying. It had meant that she couldn't just break down and cry when she realized that she couldn't get changed from a hospital gown into a t-shirt without help. She'd known that she would have to be strong, but having him so close, so often, had pushed her too far.

She'd found herself snapping at him the way he used to snap at her, and being quiet and sullen much of the rest of the time, just in order to keep herself in control. If she'd had more time to herself, she probably would have smirked or playfully rolled her eyes at him when he goaded the nurse on duty that morning, but instead she'd waited until the nurse was gone and then nearly shouted at him, telling him to just let her do her job so that she could check out.

He had stared her down and then silently left the room. Cameron hadn't seen or heard from him since and a sick feeling had taken up residence in her stomach. She was thinking of paging Wilson to see if he could track him down, but that struck even her as a rather cowardly move when she could just as easily page House. With a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and made herself stop plucking nervously at her blanket. If House didn't come by the time Dr. Paulson signed her release orders, she'd call Wilson then, and if she couldn't find Wilson, she was sure Foreman would drive her home, and she'd sort everything out with House later.

The steady, rhythmic sound of her own breathing was putting her into a nearly meditative state, and it was exactly what she needed. The pain became less intense and she was able to quell her nausea with the belief that she and House hadn't been together for six months only for him to walk away over one stupid show of temper. Back in the beginning, she might not have been so sure, but now she was.

Her ears caught the metallic click of the doorknob being turned and she opened her eyes, hopeful that Dr. Paulson was there with her chart and her discharge papers. Instead, she watched as House walked in, gait strong despite his limp, blue eyes boring into her.

"House." She just said his name, not exactly sure where to start her explanation, or if he even expected one.

"Yup, that would be my name. Good to know you haven't forgotten it."

He walked closer to her bed, and the thump of his cane seemed louder than usual. She wondered if that was a sign of his anger or her overactive imagination. He was still looking at her with that intense stare usually reserved for recalcitrant patients.

"I'm sorry?" It came out as a question, because she didn't know what else to say.

A roll of his eyes told her that an apology wasn't what he was trying to get out of her with that piercing look.

"Surgery makes you cranky. What a shock," he said glibly.

"I know, but you've been so--"

He cut her off by banging his cane against the end of her bed. "Don't finish that sentence," he told her. "The walls have ears and we can't have anyone else knowing that you think I was acting nice."

Her hands balled up into fists against the blanket, and now she felt like she had to explain, because he was being too understanding, and it made her feel off-balance to suddenly be the nasty one in the relationship.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you," she said, shaking her head when he went to strike another part of her bed. "I acted like a bitch before surgery, and now I've been nasty to you for days and it's not your fault. Except it sort of is, because I just wasn't expecting you to be here." That came out wrong and she pursed her lips together trying to think of the right words while House stood there looking tense. "That isn't what I meant. I just didn't think you'd want to be hanging around my room. You hate this kind of thing, and I thought you'd come in and out, drop a few jokes, pat my head a few times, and bring me last week's flowers from the gift shop."

House's expression had turned surly. "Good to know. I'll keep that in mind next time."

"No! Please, just listen. I'm trying to explain here," she said plaintively. "I wouldn't have minded if you'd acted that way. You aren't a cuddly stuffed animal, and I know that. But then you came and you stayed, and no, you still weren't cuddly, but you were here, and it just threw me off."

"I thought you'd appreciate the change," House said gruffly.

Cameron's voice grew soft and she loosened her grip on the blanket and reached out towards him. "I did," she told him, "but I guess I thought I'd have more time to prepare myself to face you, and it was just hard being strong all the time."

House dropped onto the edge of the bed. "Who said you had to be?"

She shrugged. "I don't like to show you my weaknesses," she admitted, "and I didn't want to upset you either. You know you get mad when you can't fix everything, and when you get mad you retreat, and I didn't want that."

"Until you decided to throw me out, right?" he said with a touch of snideness, although he was beginning to understand.

"Well, yeah. Until that."

He didn't know how to feel. His natural inclination was to be cold and distant in all situations. He'd fought that instinct because he actually cared about her, and now she was telling him that she relied on him being an ass. Perfect.

"So I show you my soft underbelly and you're afraid to show me yours. Is that what you're telling me?"

An uncomfortable look settled on Cameron's face. "Apparently."

He swept his hand over his face. "How screwed up is this relationship that these are our problems?"

"Please don't say that," Cameron said, placing her hand on his knee. "It took you a while to open up to me. I guess it's going to take me a while too."

"But you were supposed to be open already!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

She smiled slightly, knowing all of a sudden that things were getting back to normal. "Well compared to you, a mime is open!"

House studied her face for a minute and then shifted his focus to the handle of his cane. It was propped in front of his legs, and he was rolling it between his hands.

"I don't think you're weak. I thought it once, but not now. I don't expect you to be a martyr. I was a fucking baby after my surgery."

She was surprised by his admission. "Yeah, but you didn't want your surgery," she reasoned, "and it was a lot more serious."

"Doesn't matter. Principle's the same." He looked up at her again, and Cameron's chest felt instantly tight. As many times as she'd thought she'd seen the depth of him in his eyes, he was still able to surprise her with more. "What I said… when you were coming around…" He really didn't want to repeat it. Not here again, in a public place where any one of the nurses he'd insulted could come barging in. "I didn't just say that to calm you down."

"I know that," she said with a shy smile.

"Good. Then stop thinking you have to be some damn superwoman to keep me from running for the hills," he said sternly.

She smiled wider and squeezed his leg. "I promise."

* * *

Dr. Paulson came in shortly after House and Cameron had their somewhat awkward heart to heart talk. House immediately moved off the bed, but he didn't sit down in the chair. He preferred the advantage his height provided. Cameron managed not to smirk as Paulson and House stared at one another for a second before Paulson launched into his standard discharge speech. No lifting. No reaching. No driving. Regimen of medications. Appointment for physical therapy. Appointment to have the stitches removed. Cameron had heard it all before. At least this time, since the surgery was mainly cosmetic and didn't involve any internal organs, the restrictions wouldn't last as long. 

By the end of the spiel, House was muttering along under his breath and Paulson hastily scrawled his signature on the release forms and told them he'd send in a nurse with a wheelchair. Cameron shot a glance to House but didn't say anything and he gave her an exaggerated happy expression. She didn't roll her eyes, but he could tell she wanted to and yet was also forcing herself not to laugh.

The requisite wheelchair ride was accepted with only a token objection. Cameron was just glad to be getting out of the hospital and was willing to accept any mode of transportation. An orderly pushed her into the elevator, with House trailing behind with her bag slung over his shoulder and an obscenely large flower arrangement from Chase and Foreman, balanced precariously against his hip. Once they got in the elevator, House unceremoniously gave the flowers to Cameron and shooed the orderly out with a few nasty words followed by a growl.

"Does this mean I get to ditch the wheelchair?" Cameron asked as the doors closed and the car started its descent.

"No, it means we don't need some idiot pushing you."

The elevator opened on the first floor and House navigated the wheelchair swiftly through the lobby, not going slow enough for any of the nurses or doctors to start up a conversation. Cuddy was in her office and saw them leaving, but she didn't try to stop them. House still had clinic hours in the afternoon, but she knew that was a lost cause. She picked up the phone to call Teri and tell her to find someone to cover for him.

Cameron didn't comment when House helped her into the car. She raised her arm to get her seatbelt, but her movement was slow and tentative, and House's hand was already there, reaching across to buckle it for her.

"Quit twisting around," he said sharply. "You'll pull your stitches and we'll wind up right back here."

It was actually nice to hear the familiar gruffness in his voice and she let him see a quirky half-smile as he closed her door. He left the wheelchair beside the parking spot, muttering that there really needed to be a corral for them, and leaving out the fact that he'd wouldn't actually walk the extra steps to use one. A few minutes later and the sporty Corvette was speeding out of the parking lot and heading towards the east side of town.

"This isn't the way to my apartment," Cameron said, though she didn't really sound surprised.

House slapped the steering wheel in mock frustration, his voice a match for every villain on the old Scooby Doo cartoon. "Oh drat, you've figured out my evil plan." He rolled his eyes and his tone of voice shifted back to normal. "You aren't really going to pretend that you thought I was taking you to your place, are you?"

"Maybe," she said dryly.

"Fine. You need help, your apartment has the stairs from hell, and you just told me last week that all of your comfortable clothes are infesting my closet."

"I don't think I used the word infested."

"Creative license. You have girly 'G's' and I have a built-in English to snide translator."

"Nice."

"I thought you'd appreciate it."

Cameron sighed with both resignation and amusement coloring the sound and her expression.

The drive was uneventful, but Cameron looked around happily, as if she hadn't seen the view a hundred times before. She was even happier when she walked inside the townhouse and was able to sit down on the comfortable sofa and put her legs up. House dropped her bag next to the door and disappeared into the kitchen. When he reemerged he had a glass of water in his hand.

"Time for your nummy-yummy pills," he sing-songed.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're just trying to get me knocked out so I won't annoy you."

"Yeah, good thing you know me better," House said, nudging her feet so that he could sit down on the far end of the sofa.

He pulled three bottles of pills out of his pocket. One was his own prescription, and he swallowed one pill down without water. The other two were Cameron's and he handed her tilted out the correct number of each and transferred them into her hand. She pouted for a second like a five year old, while he stared at her like a stern teacher. Then she popped them in her mouth and reached for the water.

"There, now don't you feel better?"

"Oh yeah, they're already kicking in," Cameron replied sarcastically.

"Aww, that's my girl. You get that tone from me!"

She scoffed at him and he stood up and limped back towards the kitchen. This time when he came back he was carrying an extremely large vase of flowers.

"Apparently Cuddy got the idea you'd be staying here," he told her. "These have been stinking the place up since last night."

He put them on the coffee table so that she could smell them. He had a dozen mental images of her with blissfully closed eyes as she sniffed at roses and sweet peas and any other flower that came her way. This time was no different, and he stood back a bit and watched her touch the petals gently before breathing in the fresh scent. He didn't know why seeing her like that made him feel so annoyingly sentimental, but it did.

After properly admiring the flowers, Cameron leaned back against the throw pillows stacked behind her. "I'll probably fall asleep soon," she told him. "If you want to go back to the hospital, you should go."

House looked at her as if she was delusional. "Sorry, have the meds already gone to your head? You must have mistaken me with someone who enjoys clinic duty. Having you out of commission is the best excuse I've ever had for skipping."

"Well, it's good to know I'm still useful."

"Very," he said, and the light touch on her shoulder as he limped past her to the piano was unexpected.

He didn't say anything else, but he started playing, first Chopin, then Bach. All very light and calming pieces. When he looked back at Cameron ten minutes later, she had scooted down into a prone position, and he kept playing until he knew she was asleep.


	6. Chapter 5

This chapter is an odd amalgamation of not a lot of action, but still quite a bit happening. I was unsure over the end of this chapter but I think it's come out all right now. Let me know your thoughts on it. Thanks, as always, to all my readers!

**Chapter 5**

It was a beautiful fall day, with temperatures holding steady in the fifties, no breeze to speak of, and bright sunshine beaming down from a clear, deep azure sky. It was the kind of day that Allison Cameron usually loved, but not today. Propped on House's sofa, facing the large bow window, she stared outside and became more annoyed as the time went on.

There were two water bottles, the television remote, a stack of books, two months' worth of medical periodicals, and even House's precious iPod, all within arm's reach, but she was still frustrated and bored. She had slept most of the first afternoon at home, and much of the following day as well, but now, three days after her release from the hospital, she was taking fewer painkillers, and that meant more lucid hours in which to be bored.

She couldn't remember being quite so irritated during her first recuperation, but a lot had been going on then. Between anxiety and flashbacks about the attack, and the strange and tentative new relationship with House, there hadn't been much time left to just dwell on the fact that she couldn't put on her own socks, never mind go for a run. House had also been with her, keeping her company for over a week, due to his own suspension. He had a new patient now, and unless he really went overboard with the God routine, his chances of being suspended again were slim.

With a sigh and a small grunt of disgust, she reached for a magazine. It was ridiculous to be so moody, and she decided to blame the drugs she was taking. The lack of showering wasn't helping either, nor the fact that she hadn't washed her hair since before her surgery. Lifting her arms over her head wasn't possible, and she'd made the executive decision not to involve House, but she knew that wasn't going to last. Hopefully he'd surprise her again with another burst of sympathetic understanding. However, since their talk in the hospital, he actually seemed to be making an effort to be even snarkier than usual. It was sweet, in a purely House way, that he'd decided it was better to give her familiar insults than foreign kindness.

She was reading the second page of an article about a new transplant anti-rejection drug regimen when the doorbell rang. It was her third time reading the same passage so the distraction was a welcome one, although getting to the door would take a bit of effort.

"Just a second," she called out as she slowly swung her legs off the sofa and used her arms to push herself up without distressing her healing chest and abdomen.

"Take your time," came the muffled reply, and Cameron smiled as she recognized Foreman's voice.

Once on her feet, she was able to move faster, and soon had the deadbolt unlocked and the door opened.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, motioning for him to follow her as she made her way back to the sofa.

"House has me out breaking into some old guy's apartment and I figured I'd swing by and see how you're doing."

Cameron's eyes narrowed and her mouth made that little pout that said she didn't quite believe what she was hearing. "And how'd you know the address here?"

Foreman's expression went from straight-faced to an open look that clearly said he knew the jig was up.

"Yeah, okay, so maybe he told me to check on you while I was out."

Her smile went all the way to her eyes and Foreman smiled back at her, still surprised to see that House could make her happy, but unable to deny the truth of it.

"You can report back that I'm fine," she said. "Just bored." She plucked at her stringy hair. "And feeling a little scummy." Looking at him sheepishly, she continued, "I think I need to get him to help with my hair."

Foreman looked scandalized for a second, obviously not enjoying the mental image of the two of them in the shower together, but then he started laughing. "You know, the way he's storming around the office today, I'm almost ready to tell him he needs to get over here and help you with a minor health emergency."

"Don't you dare!" she exclaimed, reaching out to hit him with a pillow but pulling back with a small squeak of pain.

"Hey, hey, easy. Nah. I wouldn't do that. He'd just get me back in some really disgusting way."

Leaning back a bit, and hugging the pillow to her chest, Cameron asked, "So who is the new patient? Is the case really that frustrating?"

"Frustrating?"

"You said he's storming around."

One dark eyebrow arched upward, as Foreman looked at her, unable to believe that she wouldn't know the reason behind House's behavior.

"He's acting pissy because you're not there," he told her, some sarcasm infusing his tone. "The patient's pretty run of the mill. I mean, we don't have a diagnosis yet, but we haven't managed to stop his heart or give him a seizure yet either, so we're doing okay."

"Well I'm sorry he's being difficult."

"Difficult?" Foreman let out another bark of laughter. "Yeah, I guess that's how you've always described his moods. See, that's how we always knew you had a thing for him."

She couldn't deny it, but her little curl of a smile skirted that line between amused and annoyed. "Yeah, okay. Have you picked on me enough yet? He wouldn't like it if he knew you were picking on me."

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, eh?" he asked, still smirking.

A roll of her eyes and another indulgent smile was her response.

Foreman stood up, but waved at her to stay seated. "I've gotta get back before he starts paging me. I'll let him know you're still alive. Where's your key? I'll lock up and give it to him so you don't have to follow me to the door."

Cameron heaved herself up and Foreman put out an arm to steady her, while looking irritated at her actions.

"I don't keep a key on me," she explained. "Anyway, I shouldn't just lie around all day."

"You don't keep a key on you?" he said incredulously.

She shrugged. "It's in the car. For emergencies."

Foreman sighed in exasperation. "You're practically living with the guy. I think you can put it with the rest of your keys now."

His comment was ignored, and "Drive safe," was what she said as he stepped over the threshold.

A quick wave, and he was gone, and Cameron went back to the warmth of the sofa and fluffy throw pillows. It was strange to hear Foreman say that she was practically living with House. It was the truth, but one she'd been denying in favor of self-preservation should it all fall apart. She wondered what House thought about their arrangement, and she wondered if he would ever broach the subject, or if they'd just maintain the status quo for the foreseeable future.

An increasing surge of pain made her abandon that line of thought, and she reached for her painkillers. Two pills and a drink of water later, she was ready for her early afternoon nap. She drifted off to sleep with a pillow snug in her embrace. House's scent clung lightly to it, and she dreamt that he was holding her.

It seemed that sounds were destined to interrupt her day, and this time it was the sound of her cell phone that roused Cameron from a light slumber.

"Uh? H'llo?" she muttered into the phone, which had been thoughtfully left right beside the sofa.

"I hear you're bored."

"House?"

"Six months and you don't recognize my voice? Should I be alarmed?"

"Wha?" She blinked and shook her head, coming to her senses as the last of sleep floated away like smoke. "Sorry. I was napping."

"Foreman says you're bored," he repeated, and she could almost see him tapping his fingers in impatience.

"A little. I'm fine. I hear you have a patient."

"I could come home and amuse you," he said, ignoring her statement.

She chuckled. "Amuse me, eh?"

"Yeah. What, you don't think I can be amusing? I'm thinking of renting myself out as a clown for kiddie parties. I make a mean balloon animal."

"No doubt," she replied with a smirk.

"Well, since you're obviously some sort of freak clown hater, how about doing some long-distance diagnosis? Sixty-five year old man presenting with chest pain, delusions, and trouble speaking."

"Advanced Alzheimer's?"

"Negative."

"MS? Lesions on the brain? But that doesn't explain the chest pain. Did he have a heart attack? Maybe his brain was denied oxygen?"

"No to MS, and an MRI showed nothing. No heart attack, but he's had two in the past."

"Not a stroke, is it?"

"Yeah, it's a stroke, and I missed it," he said sarcastically.

She huffed out a breath indignantly, then winced in pain, regretting the action. "Just asking. Checked his thyroid?"

"Yup. Normal."

Cameron pressed her lips together and the tiny creases in her forehead grew more defined as she wrinkled her brow in concentration. "You already know what it is, don't you?"

"Not telling."

"You checked for one big stroke. Has he had any in the past?"

"One," House replied, sounding pleased.

"How recently?"

"Six months."

"What's his cholesterol?"

"Through the roof."

"He's got vascular dementia, doesn't he? Caused by a series of small strokes. The last one probably took out part of the language center of the brain."

"Think you're pretty clever now, don't you?" House said.

"How's he doing now?"

"Better, but he'll be an inpatient for a while."

"Who got it right? You, Foreman or Chase?"

"Who do you think?" he asked smugly.

"Foreman," she replied with a grin.

"You just got knocked off my Christmas list."

"Oh, so now you'll just have to buy a present for Wilson?"

"Ha. Boredom makes you mean."

"Sorry," she said, sounding somewhat less than sincere.

"And Foreman was the one to keep coming back to it being a stroke we just couldn't see," House admitted. "But as captain of our little team, I'm the one who took the ball and limped with it."

Cameron didn't quite laugh, but her light, quick breath gave away how close she was to giggling. She never would have imagined that House could make her giggle.

"Still bored?" he asked.

"Better," she answered.

"Good. Cuddy's making me put in two hours down in the clinic. I'll sneak off after one. It's Wednesday. Chinese night. The usual?"

The fact that they had a usual Wednesday night routine was not lost on her. "Extra vegetable rolls?" she requested.

"Fine. That means you can't eat my crab rangoons."

"Oh fine, I won't touch them," she said with an elaborate sigh.

"Cuddy's coming. Gotta hide." His voice was a mock whisper, and Cameron heard Cuddy's voice in the distance just before the phone cut off.

* * *

It was dark by the time House pulled onto his street, and he was annoyed. He'd planned on getting away from the hospital early, not late. He parked, grabbed the food, slammed the door, and limped heavily up the steps, muttering under his breath as he went. A key in the door, a turn of the doorknob and he rammed his shoulder into the still locked door. Damn deadbolt. He never used it, but he'd insisted Cameron keep it locked while she was there, in case she fell into a drugged sleep. His selfish-sounding comments about not wanting to find her bloody body -- much less get the stains out of the carpet -- had left her staring at him with a bland, almost amused, look on her face, but apparently she'd listened to him.

Another key, in another keyhole, and this time the door swung open effortlessly and House walked in, scanning the room for signs of Cameron. There weren't any, and he had his mouth open to shout out to her in his usual grumpy fashion, when she made her presence known.

"Over here," she called to him, and he took another step and turned his head, seeing her seated at the piano near the window.

"That doesn't look like resting."

"It's not good to lie down all the time," she said, as if he didn't already know that.

He walked by the coffee table and dropped the bag of food onto it, then continued towards the piano. "You must be really bored to have resorted to this," he said, angling his head at the instrument. "You never play."

"That's because I don't like an audience."

A highly skeptical look forced his eyebrows up. "Neither do I, but you whine and pout until I play."

"That's different."

"Because I don't have pouty lips and puppy dog eyes?"

"Because _I'm_ your audience and _you_ would be mine. Which do you think is better?"

"Not my fault you're soft-hearted," he grumbled.

She looked at him with head cocked and large eyes peering over the rims of her glasses. "You could give Van Cliburn performance anxiety," she said dryly.

"Yeah, well he's a wimp."

A smirk and another eye roll was her answer. She slid off the piano bench and walked over to where he stood. "You got the food?"

He ignored her question and stared down at her until she looked up, questioningly.

"I'll keep a civil tongue in my head if you want to play," he told her.

She blinked a couple of times in surprise, not having expected their playful banter to lead to a serious response.

"It's just a little unnerving. You're so much better than I am."

"That never stops you from piping up at the hospital," he replied with an egotistical grin.

"What happened to that civil tongue?"

"That's only good for piano playing. Everything else is fair game." The expressive movements of his face dared her to laugh. "Now let's eat. I'm starved."

Cameron kept her mouth tightly shut against either a smart reply or a snickering, and followed him to the coffee table. They ate in relative silence, while watching that afternoon's episode of General Hospital. Despite his stated intent to keep all of the crab rangoon to himself, he ended up plucking one from the box and dropping it in with Cameron's bo lo gai pan. She didn't exactly smile in return, but she did save him the last of the lo mein.

House knew that she wouldn't relax until the boxes were thrown away, so he took care of them with minimal complaining and then collapsed onto the sofa again. Cameron had turned off the television and had her eyes closed, resting. House resisted the uncanny urge to kiss her forehead. After dinner was when they usually just relaxed and continued watching television or read, played the piano, or played with each other. **:snort:** Since that last type of play was out of the question for at least another two weeks, House grabbed up a thick novel he'd been working his way through. Cameron appeared to be thinking for a minute and then she stood up slowly. He watched her with a question in his eye.

"I'm allowed to have a real shower tonight instead of a damn sponge bath," she said. It's been five days."

"Oh good. Didn't want to mention anything, but you were starting to smell a little ripe," House said, waving his hand in front of his nose.

"Very funny," she replied.

House looked back at his book, and Cameron started to move, but in that sort of jerky, not-quite-ready-to-go way. House looked back up at her.

"What?"

The open and humorous face she'd possessed just a second ago had been replaced by a tentative one which he hadn't seen in a while.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought maybe you could help with my hair," she said quickly. "I can't quite--"

She didn't have to finish her explanation because House had already tossed his book aside. He grabbed his cane and hoisted himself to his feet.

"Well come on, let's get this show on the road," he said, and limped ahead of her down the hall.

Cameron was slightly slow to follow him. She'd known, really, that he would agree, but it still took a moment of getting used to, and now she trembled a bit inside at the fact that he would be seeing her naked for the first time since the surgery. He'd seen the incision though, and it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before. With a sigh, she walked to the bedroom, and tried to keep herself from feeling like a virgin on prom night.

She heard the water start up in the bathroom. He was already in there, and she carefully unbuttoned her loose-fitting blouse and slipped out of it and her comfortable yoga pants.

"Water's hot," came House's voice from the bathroom, and Cameron walked in, with her arms crossed over her chest.

She wasn't wearing a bra, but she still had her panties on and the bandage was still taped to her chest. House was leaning against the counter and he looked at her when she entered, his eyes clear and almost tender.

"Let's get that off," he said, motioning her over.

For some inane reason, she felt it necessary to keep her hands covering her breasts as he eased the tape away from her skin and carefully removed the gauze which ran the length of her breastbone.

"Looks good," he said, when he noticed that she wasn't looking down at it, or into the mirror above the counter. She had her eyes trained on his left shoulder instead. "Not too much swelling." He touched around the incision carefully, probing with sensitive fingertips. "I know it hurts, but it's not warm. No infection or anything."

She nodded and finally looked down, meeting his gaze halfway before peering at the redrawn line on her skin. Before surgery it had faded to a ragged pink line, and now it was almost as bad as the first time she'd ever seen it, over six months ago. She had to remind herself that the tiny stitches and careful incision would fade much better and faster than the last one.

House touched her shoulder. "Ready to get in?"

"Yeah," she answered, still looking down at herself. It was another second before she backed up and turned to face the shower.

It was very large, with plenty of room for both of them. A renovation which had been necessary after House's infarction. There were seats in two corners and a handrail which was currently holding two washcloths. Cameron thought that House preferred to have it disguised like that rather than nakedly displayed as an obvious accessory for a crippled man. She stepped out of her remaining garment, and House dropped his boxers on the floor as well, before holding the door open and ushering her inside.

The water pelted down on House's back and his taller form mostly shielded Cameron. A bit of shifting, and she was the one with her back to the stream, droplets pattering off her head and striking House's shoulders and chest. She reached for a cloth but his hand was there first.

"Just stand there," he said, but it wasn't a demand; the words were spoken quietly, and they barely echoed off the tile walls.

He used her favorite shower gel, the one that smelled of coconut and verbena. He wouldn't admit it, but it was his favorite as well. It was the scent he always associated with her alone. It would be nice to get it back and wash away the days of hospital antiseptic soap and sponge baths at the bathroom sink. Cameron was staring at him, eyes blinking away the water that clung to her lashes, and he couldn't look at her face for long because it made him feel more than he wanted to. More than he was prepared to. It made his throat start to ache with the physical reminder of how much he cared for her, and how much he had actually worried when she'd been under the knife less than a week ago.

It was easier to concentrate on putting exactly the right amount of soap on the cloth than to think too much about that.

Smooth, sure hands moved over and across her shoulders, along her collarbones, down arms to elbows, to wrists, and along hips and belly. Lightly, the soft cloth grazed over her incision and then down again, to the curls between her legs. He washed her with no sense of urgency and without a spec of sensuality. It was pure reverence, although he would never admit it, and Cameron would never fully believe it.

"Here," he said, handing her the other cloth. "Hold this in front of your chest and turn around so I can get your back and hair."

She did as she was asked, feeling a little lightheaded from the attention as much as the steam. A part of her felt like crying, and her chest was tight for reasons far beyond the surgery. She didn't think she'd ever felt so cherished in her life.

He took the same amount of care with her back as he had her front. "Sorry, can't reach your legs," he muttered, and it was the only sign of the reality of their sometimes awkward lives.

"That's okay," she whispered, and then tilted her head back as he started washing her hair.

They were probably only in the shower for less than twenty minutes, and it was only nine o'clock when they exited the bathroom; him with a towel around his waist, and her with her hair towel dried by his hands -- as it had been so many months before -- and wrapped in her soft flannel robe. Neither of them really felt like going back out into the living room, and in near-silence, they changed into their nightclothes and crawled between the sheets.

She was slightly propped against the pillows and House shifted onto his side to face her, looking at her pale face made radiant by the moonlight. He reached over to pull her closer, in a move he seldom made, but he hadn't anticipated her moving at the same time, and his elbow struck her chest and drew a sharp cry from her mouth.

"Damn!" he cursed and pulled his arm back as he was jarred back from the surreal moments in the shower by his own ineptitude. "Sorry. Are you all right?" he mumbled, feeling like an idiot. Their relationship was not magic and sparkling rainbows, it was clumsy and strange and far from the perfection of any romantic ideal. He should have remembered that.

His mood was turning darker by the second, until a soft hand touched his jaw.

"I'm fine," Cameron said, voice soothing in the grey moonlight. "Payback's only fair. I'm sure I've probably hit your leg more times than I know." She moved a bit closer and turned her head, just barely able to touch his stubbled cheek with her lips. "It's okay, really," she said after she kissed him. He seemed to relax a little and she reached across her body to grab his hand. "C'mere." When he didn't seem inclined to move, she looked up into his face. "Please?"

He let himself be tugged towards her body, and this time when his arm slid along her belly, she sighed in happiness. He placed a quick kiss on her temple, trying not to feel like a sentimental fool. They didn't have perfection, but they had this.


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry for the lengthy wait, but at least I'm giving you a nice long chapter... 13 pages. I'm not often really pleased with my writing, but I must admit that I really like how this chapter turned out. Sometimes it's as if the characters are in my mind and I'm just transcribing for them! Hopefully you all will feel the same. I'm very interested to see if others like it as well, so please let me know!

**Chapter 6**

The recommended recuperation time for Cameron's operation was four weeks, and she was scheduled to return to work just after Halloween. Her boredom, and House's irritation with her absence worked in tandem, and she made her reappearance at PPTH a week earlier than expected.

Foreman and Chase were both thrilled to see her back. Even though House had started conference-calling her when they went over differential diagnoses for their patients, he'd still been more of a bastard than usual the rest of the time. Foreman wasn't sure if he really missed her that much, or if it was his strange way of worrying about people that had him so on edge when Cameron wasn't around.

While Cameron had been in surgery, Foreman had accidentally seen House pacing in the clinic in between patients. The hand gripping the cane had displayed every tendon in stark relief and the other hand had been pressed against a furrowed brow. Foreman had backed away without being seen, but the image stuck with him, and he'd remembered it every time House had gotten particularly aggravating and then glanced at the phone.

Sitting on her desk when she arrived was a pound of gourmet coffee and an extremely cheesy card from her two coworkers. House had not been kind in regards to their coffee making skills while she was gone. The three of them joked around for a minute before settling down to do… nothing. Their last patient had checked out of the hospital over the weekend and there were no new ones on the horizon. It seemed that no one was coming down with any weird and impossible to diagnose ailments in the tri-state area.

Eleven o'clock and Foreman was thumbing through a magazine, Chase was biting the end of his pen looking for a fourteen letter word for "trippy" and Cameron was wondering why she'd bothered coming in. The novelty of being in the hospital rather than curled up on the sofa at House's place had definitely worn off. She was considering getting started on editing the article she'd co-authored with Foreman for the NEJM, and had just risen from her seat at the conference table when the main door swung open.

Clicking heels and a shake of a perfectly coiffed head, and Cuddy strode into the room as if she owned it, which was her usual attitude. She hadn't gotten her job by being wimpy and indecisive. Chase shoved his newspaper inside a folder and Foreman hid his copy of Vibe behind a medical textbook. Cuddy waved her hand and rolled her eyes.

"Give it up. I know you're all just hanging around doing nothing," she said, sounding more resigned than angry.

"Just waiting for a patient," Chase offered.

"Great. But in the meantime, Dr. Cameron, I need you."

Cameron's eyebrows rose in question.

"Immunology. Short staffed as usual. Dr. Chen's still gone and now Dr. Roberts is out with the flu."

House must have either heard Cuddy enter, or sensed her presence, because the door from his office opened with a clattering of wood against glass, and House limped in. "Stealing my doctors?" he asked, looking at Cuddy suspiciously.

Cuddy sighed. She'd hoped to be in and out without incident, but hadn't really expected that. "Borrowing."

"Sorry, no can do," he said firmly, leaning on his cane and staring over the tops of the other doctors' heads, and straight into Cuddy's eyes."

"Actually, I'm fine with it," Cameron interjected, but was ignored.

"You don't really get a say, House. She's needed elsewhere and she's not needed here."

"She's my employee."

"She's the hospital's employee, which actually, funnily enough, makes her my employee."

"She's not even supposed to be here for another week," House growled.

"And yet, here she sits," Cuddy replied, sounding mockingly amazed. Her voice changed tenor and she assumed a less defensive position. "Look, I'm not going to make her deadlift patients from bed to bed, House. I just need her to help out."

"I'd be happy to," Cameron tried again, but it was like trying to catch a tennis ball in the middle of a match between two top seeded players.

"And I said no," House argued.

"Look," Cuddy replied, getting frustrated, "you really don't have a say in the matter."

Cameron finally stood up, her chair squeaking as it rolled backwards. "Hello? I'm right here, and I'm not a child," she said, annoyance thick in her voice. She turned to House. "If they need me upstairs, then that's where I'm going. You can page me if we get a patient." She turned back to Cuddy. "Any patient in particular I should see first?"

Cuddy actually had the good grace to look slightly ashamed that she'd essentially been having a tug-of-war with the woman standing in front of her. "Thirty year old woman just admitted. She's got the beginnings of kidney failure and they just diagnosed lupus."

Cameron's face drew into a frown, and then a determined and thoughtful expression. "Okay, I'll get her sorted out and then talk to the head nurse up there."

She headed towards Cuddy and the door, but then turned back to the others. "I'll see you all later."

"Right. Have fun, Cam," Foreman said with a wave, and Chase seconded it with a slight nod of his head.

House had already turned to stalk back to his office.

Cameron sighed and followed Cuddy into the hallway and towards the elevators.

"It's good to have you back," Cuddy said as they walked. "Sorry about... back there," she continued, gesturing with her hands.

"It's fine," Cameron replied, feeling the tension, that had stretched across her shoulders, start to ease.

"He's in rare form today."

"Being bored does that to him."

Cuddy gave a knowing little smirk. "So does his overly possessive nature."

Aside from one rather brief conversation, right before her return to work after her attack, Cuddy had never referred to House and Cameron's relationship, even obliquely. It tilted Cameron slightly off balance and her mouth opened to respond, and then closed again. They'd reached the elevator by that point and Cuddy turned and saw the uncertainty in Cameron's expression.

"I didn't mean anything by that," she said quickly.

Cameron was still silent as they stepped aboard. Her lips pursed, then relaxed. "I don't want you to think our relationship outside the hospital affects our relationship inside it," were the words she finally settled on.

"No, I've seen the two of you when you have a patient. He's just as much an ass as always," Cuddy joked.

It was nice to feel a bit of shared camaraderie with a woman who often intimidated her, and Cameron chuckled a little bit. "No doubt about that," she replied before turning serious again, "but just now... that was over the line."

The look on Cuddy's face was one of subdued surprise and a portion of respect. "I'm sure you can handle it," she said, and then the elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto the fifth floor, leaving Cameron to ride the rest of the way by herself.

* * *

House never paged her, and at five fifteen she left the Immunology ward and took the elevator down to Diagnostics. She and House had actually driven in together, something which they rarely did, and she wondered if he'd already left. She'd have to go to an ATM and get cash if he had, because she didn't have enough on her for a cab ride home, and she'd be damned if she was going to call him if he was still acting like a stubborn ass.

She was gearing herself up to be extremely mad at him for not only treating her like a child in front of Dr. Cuddy, but also refusing to respect her abilities as a doctor. A part of her mind latched onto the certainty that he was still holding a grudge and that she would find an empty office. The more rational part of her mind told her that he wouldn't do that to her, but sometimes that rational side wasn't nearly loud enough to shout down her doubts which were particularly loud this time since they were joined by her anger. Her footsteps pounded out a staccato rhythm as she marched down the hall, and she was all ready to curse his name under her breath. Instead, she turned the corner and saw House sitting at his desk, tossing his ball into the air and looking pensive. The wind was immediately let out of her sails and her righteous indignation dwindled to semi-understanding irritation.

Her small hand rapped twice on the glass door before she pushed it open and stepped inside. She waited for it to close and then leaned against it, looking at House and noticing how very much he wasn't looking at her.

"I thought you might have left," she said, feeling a little silly now that she'd let her emotions override her trust in him.

"Nope. Of course I could have left early, but I had to wait around for a certain extra-helpful little do-gooder."

Cameron rolled her eyes. Okay, so he was definitely still being stubborn.

"You're not allowed to be mad. I'm the one who's supposed to be mad," she told him. "I'm the one who got treated like property. I thought I was more than lobby art."

House caught the red fuzzy ball in mid-arc and held it tight in strong, sinewy fingers. "You are," he said, reluctantly. Reluctant to admit it because admitting it meant he might have been wrong, not because he didn't know it to be the truth.

"My first day back and you--"

"I know, I know," House interrupted her. "I barged in. I disrespected your status as a doctor here. I'm not worthy to lick your shoes," he rambled on sarcastically.

"House, quit it. I'm supposed to be mad. I'm not supposed to have to reassure you that everything's okay."

House cocked one eyebrow up and glanced over at her. "But it is, right?"

Cameron sighed again, but an exasperated smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I'm in your office waiting for you to drive me back to your place. You do the math."

House nodded and stood up, placed the ball in its usual place of honor on his desk and snatched his jacket from the hook beside the bookcase. He moved to Cameron's side and flipped the lights off before reaching for the door handle. The day hadn't gone as he'd planned and he was eager to leave and forget it.

"House, wait," Cameron said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "What happened today… it can't happen again. You wouldn't have acted that way if Dr. Cuddy had come in and wanted Foreman or Chase."

"Well of course not. I'd be happy to get them outta my hair for a few hours," he said sarcastically.

"House." Her tone held a warning. It felt somewhat strange to her that she actually felt confident enough to use such a voice with him.

"I overreacted," he admitted with a grunt. "Now let's get outta here before you start getting all mushy."

Cameron nodded and hid her grin. The door opened and he let her pass through it before following her, closing and locking it.

"I wouldn't have just left you here," he said as they walked down the hall. He sounded gruff and a little upset that she'd thought he had.

She looked up at him and touched his hand lightly. "I knew that."

* * *

During the drive to the townhouse, House had the stereo blasting as usual, so that meant conversation was kept to a minimum and Cameron had a few minutes to think. She watched House's fingers tap out a quick rhythm against the steering wheel and smiled lightly when his head bobbed and he belted out the chorus.

That was when she started reflecting on how few people had seen House the way she was now able to. She could think of only two off the top of her head. Wilson, and House's ex-lover, Stacy. Cuddy was a possible third, but she wasn't sure about that. She knew that she couldn't let it make her soft when he crossed the line into unacceptable behavior, but there was something precious to her about the fact that he would show any emotion at all because of her -- even possessive macho posturing.

The car swung wide onto House's street and Cameron was feeling happy and content when the pulled up to the sidewalk. An instant later and she was feeling startled at just how comfortable it all felt. She'd thought she'd been doing a good job of keeping her head on straight and not letting herself get carried away with thoughts of the future. Not good enough, apparently. It was such a tough line to walk, and she couldn't quite chastise herself for failing after how well they seemed to fit when it was just the two of them alone together.

"Getting out, or planning to sit in the car all night?" House asked, as he shut his door and limped over to the stairs.

She gave herself a mental shake and hurried out of the car, only wincing slightly as she twisted in a way she really shouldn't have. "Lost in thought," she said, joining him on the landing just as he slid his key into the lock.

"Thinking of other ways you and Cuddy can double-team me and take over the hospital?"

"Yup, that's it exactly," she quipped. She sensed that he really was just joking and not hiding a serious problem with sarcastic barbs.

"Well don't get any ideas. Wilson's got my back, and he's a biter."

"I'll have to remember that."

They entered the townhouse, and each immediately went through a familiar pattern of movements. It had been three weeks since Cameron had been with him when he arrived home from the hospital, but her routine came right back to her. It started with her shedding her shoes and coat while House tossed his cane towards the sofa and limped into the kitchen without it.

She knew he was starting dinner and she went to the bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. Her pant-suit was carefully hung up in the closet and she noticed that the jacket she'd planned to wear the next day had a spot on the collar she hadn't seen before. She pulled it off the hanger and stuffed it into the dry-cleaning bag that rested on the floor in the corner. The smell of garlic and onion wafted through the air and she headed into the kitchen.

House had a glass of scotch on the counter next to him, and he'd poured her a glass of wine.

"Peppercorn steak?" she asked as she entered.

"Very good. You don't need glasses," he said, not entirely rudely. "You could do that salad thing you do," he went on, motioning vaguely towards the refrigerator.

She took his semi-snide words in stride and went about her usual task of preparing salad, getting out the plates, and playing sous-chef to House's Emeril routine. He moved the pan off the heat and took a drink before eyeing Cameron's untouched wine.

"Unless you're sneaking painkillers behind my back, you should be fine to drink that," he said. "Of course I may not be the best example to follow."

"No, I know," she said. "I was just waiting for dinner. I took one pill this afternoon. That's all for the day."

House made a distinctly superior sounding huff. "That's what you get for abandoning your post."

She smirked at him and carried the salad to the table. "Okay, Sarge. Whatever you say."

He made a face that indicated he didn't appreciate her mocking, but then turned back to the stove and flipped the two steaks out of the pan and onto the plates. They were joined by a selection of frozen vegetables before he brought them to the table and sat down.

"You forgot your drink," Cameron told him, looking at the half-full glass still sitting next to the stove.

"I'll live," he replied. "Eat up. If I'm not mistaken, the restrictions around certain activities get lifted on Wednesday." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "You'll need your strength."

A year ago his sexual innuendo would have had her looking at the floor or staring at him in open-mouthed surprise. Now she merely blushed and grinned.

"I think I should spend a couple of nights at my place, actually," she said, in between bites.

"What?" House's fork paused on the way to his mouth. His voice turned a little resentful as he said, "I thought you said things were okay."

His adamant tone put Cameron on the defensive. "And I meant it," she told him. "Although if you keep it up you'll be using up your strength alone."

He bit back a retort. "Then why the sudden need for distance?"

"Well for one thing, I need more work clothes, and I need to do laundry over there and clean the place up. I've only been there twice since the surgery."

"I know that. Remember, I'm the one who drove."

She ignored his little rejoinder. "It's still my place," she said. "And anyway, aren't you sick of me getting my cooties all over everything."

"Well that's true," House's sarcastic mode was back on. "You want me to drive you over there after dinner?"

"That sounds like a good idea," she replied. "I'll get things sorted out, and Wednesday I'll make sure I'm well rested," she said with a wink.

The playful nature of her bantering was meant to put House back at ease, and it did, to some extent. She looked back at her plate to mask the fact that she herself felt nervous. She needed a little bit of space to regroup and remind herself that as perfect as everything seemed within the four walls of the townhouse, the outside world could easily intrude and their next fight might not be as easy to solve as the one they'd just had. Her eyes were trained on her food and she didn't see that House was mirroring her actions. He didn't want her to see in his face how much he wanted her to stay.

* * *

Dinner was mostly silent after Cameron's announcement that she needed to go back to her apartment, and when she tried starting in on the dishes, House stopped her and said that if he was going to drop her off he wanted to do it and get back before "The OC" started. It wasn't said with any animosity, but with the niggling doubts already in Cameron's mind, it didn't take much to make her feel very small.

She knew that he didn't want her to go. At least she thought that she knew that.

And that was really the problem. As wonderful, strange, messy, peaceful, imperfectly perfect as things had become between them, she still couldn't trust herself. She trusted House. Knew implicitly that he was being as honest with his affections as he could be. But she still had moments; flashes when she doubted that anything good in her life could ever last. She could see one argument too many ripping them apart, or all the unsaid words she believed were there, actually being nothing but her imagination. Those were the moments when she clung to the few memories of him saying that he loved her, or stroking her hair tenderly when he thought she was asleep.

He dropped her off at her place, and she had to lean over to kiss him good night, because he kept the engine running and it was obvious he wasn't planning on coming in. She wasn't sure why that bothered her since the whole reason she'd made him take her home was so that she could be alone, but she realized it was because his actions gave away the fact that he was hurt, annoyed, or possibly both. He did kiss her back, and with his usual enthusiasm, even reaching up to press his hand to the back of her neck, but then he pulled back and stared at the steering wheel. She knew that her pupils were huge, and her breath shallow when they parted, and she forced herself out of the car and down the little path to her front porch.

The roar of the Corvette's engine was loud in her ears as she unlocked her door.

Her apartment was cold after so many days with the heat off, and she hurried around turning on lights as if that would warm the place faster. She still had her coat on when she sat down in the living room, stack of mail clutched to her chest. There had been a small pile of it waiting just inside her door on the ground floor landing. She and House had stopped by a couple of times to get clothes and sort through the mail, and all her bills had already been taken care of, so what remained was mainly junk mail, the weekly free newspapers and a birth announcement from an old med school friend she hadn't spoken to in months. It took less time to go through it than she'd hoped, and she cast about for her next task.

Cleaning. She needed to vacuum and dust, and make sure the bathroom was clean, and maybe change the sheets. Except the apartment had been painfully clean before her surgery, and being unoccupied for three weeks hadn't exactly made it dirty. There was a thin layer of dust on the surfaces, but it was quickly wiped and swept and sucked away.

She wanted more to clean. She didn't want to admit that she what she really wanted was the sound of House's piano playing in her ear and crackling yellow flames in the fireplace. It was while flipping through the clothes in her closet that her ability to push down her thoughts abandoned her. She thought about the suit lying in the bag in the corner of House's bedroom and wondered if he'd drop off the dry cleaning. She speculated about what he was doing at that moment. Probably drinking another scotch and sprawling on the sofa in front of the television. His attention wouldn't really be on the actors though, he'd be brooding about the fact that she'd insisted on leaving. By the time the credits rolled he'd be certain that she'd lied about not being mad because of his stubbornness, and he'd be mad at himself, but then he'd start getting angry that she couldn't let things go, and then he'd take another drink and wander into the bedroom still angry. He'd be sharp and testy with her in the morning, and then it would take days before they felt comfortable around each other again.

Cameron sank down onto the edge of her bed and stared at the suit in her hands. That wasn't how she wanted things to go. She didn't want her insecurities to pluck at the fragile threads of their relationship. She had fled because of fear, and it bothered her that as much as she'd grown, she still fell back into self-defeating thoughts so easily. She could argue that it was House's fault, and that if he'd just be more open with her, then she could be more open with him and she wouldn't need to be afraid, but that was a lie. She'd known exactly who he was and how he was long before she'd fallen in love with him, and yet she'd fallen unreservedly.

He didn't need words to show his commitment to the people he cared about; it was in every private action. If she needed examples other than herself, she just had to look at his friendship with Wilson, or even his semi-dysfunctional relationship with Cuddy. It might not appear that way to the casual observer, but both of those people held special places in his affections. She only had to remember the way he'd touched her face and whispered to her when she'd been coming out of anesthesia to know how much he cared about her, and even if she hadn't heard his murmured words of love, she could remember how he touched her as he washed her hair and know that spoken or not, there was love between them.

She stood up quickly and grabbed two more sets of work clothes, shoved them into a bag and started shutting off the lights in the apartment. She'd be damned if she let things fester overnight. She didn't want to be alone, and she knew he didn't want that either.

* * *

In twenty minutes she was parked outside his building and climbing the stairs to his front door. The key he'd given her was in her pocket, and she shoved her hand down and grasped it in long fingers. The street was quiet, and she could hear her own breathing, and the rustle of branches overhead, and the faint tinkling of piano keys on the other side of the door. The key was warm now, in her fist, but she released it and raised her hand to knock instead.

The music stopped and she imagined she could hear the scraping of the piano bench against he wood floor. The sound of his uneven footsteps did touch her ears as he came closer, and she knew he must have looked out the peek hole at her because there was the briefest pause before the door swung open. He stood there, flat expression on his face, leaning on the doorknob instead of his cane.

"What day is it? Am I in a new version of 'The Lost Weekend'? I didn't think you were coming over again until Wednesday."

"I changed my mind," she said, looking up at him.

"What happened to the key I gave you?" he asked grumpily, but before she could pull it out of her pocket he stepped back and ushered her inside. "So what made you come back? I thought your apartment missed you."

"I missed you more."

The last remnants of a scowl slipped from House's face and he shut the door and followed her to the living area. Cameron was standing there somewhat awkwardly, looking around in that same distracted manner that was House's trademark when he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

"So I'm fully forgiven now, eh?" House decided to give her a break and start things off. He was surprised when her eyes latched onto his, denial etched into them.

"No! I mean, there was nothing to forgive. That's not why I left, House. We settled that this afternoon, and I was never really angry with you, I was just annoyed."

"Then why'd you suddenly feel the need for privacy tonight?" House asked, limping over to the piano and sitting down. His cane was resting beside the fireplace and he needed to do something with his hands. The ivory keys filled that role nicely and he lightly pressed out a complicated fingering pattern without really sounding any notes.

Cameron dropped down onto the sofa, feeling almost boneless, and unable to voice everything that was in her head. She cursed herself for not thinking out a neat little script ahead of time.

"I told you, I just needed to get some clothes and check on things," she said, knowing that there was no way he was going to let that slide.

His eye roll was expected, as was his retort of, "Yeah, right."

She was sitting on the far end of the sofa and scooted herself closer to the piano instead, biting back her frustration with herself. "I thought I needed some time alone," she said as honestly as she could.

His playing grew louder, and Cameron recognized Rachmaninoff. "Not finding my company fulfilling enough, eh?" It was amazing how quickly he'd turned to self-loathing even if he tried to make his tone sound like typical sarcasm.

"That's not it," Cameron said, beginning to feel upset at how quickly things were going downhill. "I think I was worried because I've been enjoying it too much." The words were out, and she couldn't take them back, and when she started to look down at her clenched fists, she stared at House instead, wondering what he would say, wanting him to turn around so that she could see his eyes.

His fingers froze in mid-run and the sound echoed off the high ceilings.

"What?" House swiveled on the piano bench and his face held an expression of incredulity as all his assumptions about Cameron's behavior were totally unseated. "Things are too good so you needed to leave? That sounds like something I would say." His eyes had that glint of teasing in them, despite his obvious surprise. Some things were unchangeable, and House's method of coping through snarkiness was one of them. "I expect more sense from you."

Cameron was glad for the way he broke the tension. "You said you wanted me to open up," she said with a shrug. "This is me being open."

"Who knew you had so many layers," House joked again, but his eyes told her that he wasn't really picking on her.

"I know, amazing, isn't it?" she replied, her tiny laugh sounding just a bit nervous.

"I'm not great at this," House said awkwardly, motioning between them. "I don't do sensitive chats. You're going to have to tell me what's on your mind because unlike Wilson I don't Tivo Dr. Phil. I don't know the right questions to ask."

Her deep breath signaled that she was ready to talk.

"I guess I just got a little nervous that things were going too well."

"Too well? How is that possible?"

"It's possible because when they go too well, I get too comfortable and then I forget how fast things can change, and then I end up sobbing over a tombstone or alone in my apartment with the image of you warning me not to trust you," she answered in a rush.

If the words had come any faster, House would have missed half of them. As it was, he had to take a second to comprehend what she was telling him. His face screwed up into an expression that was half puzzlement, half uncertainty.

"I'm not dying," he assured her, "and I'm not planning on dumping you like last night's trash," he added, slightly more harshly. Her doubts hurt him in a way he hadn't been expecting. "I thought we had an understanding."

"We do," she insisted. "Please don't look at me that way."

"What way?" he snapped.

"Like I just ran over your iPod," she said, hoping to at least draw a small smile from him, but he remained straight-faced. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Except make you think you're in danger of being ditched."

"No," she said vehemently. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. You've been more than I expected. You've been there for me in ways no one else has. I feel more loved when I'm with you than I ever have!" Her voice cracked, and hearing it was enough to make House's throat tighten. "It's just that when things are that good, I can't help but think they're not going to last. That's why I needed to have some space. I told myself that I needed to pull myself together and not get so comfortable, because anything could happen, and I have to be strong because this time… this time I'm not going to get caught by surprise, and this time I'm not going to let it tear me apart." She was almost crying, and her eyes were bright with a sheen of tears, while her face was flushed and one small fist pounded into her thigh with each point she made.

House stood up and moved to the sofa, sitting down quickly and pulling her against his side. "Oh for God's sake, Cameron, don't be such a martyr," he said in a mock surfer-dude voice.

It was unexpected enough to pull a sharp laugh from Cameron and then a few tears spilled over and she tucked her head against his chest to hide them. His hand moved up and down her back soothingly. They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, because when it came to serious words, House was just as tongue-tied as Cameron. He stared at the window, at the reflection of the two of them which was mirrored there against the dark night outside. He'd never had a conversation like this with another woman. He'd never discussed feelings and doubts and fears. Even hopes and dreams had been tabled in favor of present day happenings. He'd never thought about how limiting it actually was to live only for the current pleasure or pain that life doled out on a daily basis.

He looked at the reflection and wanted more than that.

"I'm not perfect," he said, voice tight and rough, rumbling from his chest and tickling Cameron's cheek. "We've been over that before."

"I know," she replied, sounding calmer. "Obviously I'm not perfect either."

"But I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm not planning on fucking this up, Allison. Maybe you need more words; the kind of words I've always sucked at saying. I can't tell you I'm going to change and turn into someone like Wilson, who has the perfect line for every occasion. I'd be lying."

"I don't want you to change," she said. "I really don't. I don't need words to know how you feel about me."

He heard the truthfulness in her voice and his hand stopped stroking and hugged her closer instead. "Well you must need something."

"Just time," she said, sounding weary and frustrated with herself.

"I can manage that."

She raised her head and her eyes had cleared to leave them looking bluer than usual as she looked at him, marking each detail for future reference. "And this," she said simply, slipping her arms around his midsection. "This is good, too."

He didn't kiss her or trace her face with his fingertips or compare her eyes to stars. He pressed against her back until she was nestled into his chest again, and then he muttered. "Yeah, this is good. I can manage this, too."


	8. Chapter 7

It's been another lag between chapters and this one isn't quite as long as the last one, but it does have its moments, both of snarkiness and sweetness I think. Thank you all for reading and I look forward to your comments and criticism!

**Chapter 7**

Cameron was woken by the pattering of raindrops against the bedroom windows and the street below. Every so often a car would drive by accompanied by the sound of water splashing up in its wake. It was grey and cold-looking outside, but she was snuggled warmly under House's grey comforter, and the rain reminded her of a special rainy morning from months earlier.

Lying next to her, on his back as usual, House was gently snoring. His left arm was extended towards her, and she felt the brush of his knuckles against the small of her back. Slowly, so as not to wake him, she rolled over until she was facing him. She didn't often wake before him. Pain sought him even in sleep, and when her eyes opened he'd usually already taken his first Vicodin of the day and was just waiting for it to take effect while he stared up at the ceiling, or at the wall, or, on rare occasions when he thought she was asleep, at her. She supposed that he was still tired from their late night at the hospital.

The previous day had started very much like Monday, with Cameron helping up in Immunology and House trying to avoid clinic duty. It hadn't changed until about one o'clock when a patient arrived at PPTH in desperate condition and in need of their care.

The patient had been a nine year old curly-haired boy with dark eyes and a wan smile despite the pain he was in. House and the rest of the team had worked until almost two a.m. to diagnose and treat him. It was part of House's character to always insist that the patient didn't matter; it was the problem at hand that was his concern, but Cameron could see that children affected him the same way they affected everyone else. They made him fight even harder to find a solution.

That solution hadn't made itself known until the wee hours of the morning but the boy would survive, and Cameron was glad that House was sleeping peacefully. Glad, but unable to resist the temptation to touch him in his sleep. Nimble fingers lightly skimmed over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. She had rememorized each inch and was working towards the waistband of his boxers when a strong hand caught her wrist and she snapped her head up to see House's blue eyes staring at her with a decidedly lustful expression in their depths.

"Good morning," she said, voice sultry and a little rough from a night of sleep. "It's Wednesday."

"So it is," he replied, hitching himself up and starting to roll onto his side.

She saw the pain in his face an instant before the half-contained grunt broke free from his mouth.

"Damn," he muttered. "A little stiff this morning." He reached for his pills and bit one in half. Vicodin wasn't exactly known for its similarity to Viagra. A second later and he reached for Cameron, tugging her over for a kiss that was only slightly tinted by the bitter taste of his pill.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Cameron said, backing off.

House wanted to growl in frustration, but it wasn't Cameron's fault that he was in pain, or that her innate kindness kicked in when he was, so instead he grinned at her lecherously and said, "On the contrary, it's a great idea. Guaranteed to make me forget all about my pain."

His low voice caused a fluttering feeling below Cameron's belly and made her grin back at him.

"So this is okay?" she asked, snaking a warm hand under his t-shirt and spreading her fingers across his right pectoral muscle. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"Very okay," he replied.

She leaned in and they met in a tender kiss that became more heated as the seconds passed. It didn't matter that they hadn't brushed their teeth, or that House's hand caught in her hair, and when Cameron bit just slightly too hard, House just groaned into her mouth and thrust his tongue more firmly into her mouth. They were both panting slightly when they pulled apart, and House stared up at Cameron, dark silken waves a tangle around her face and shoulders, eyes wide and staring at him with such desire and affection that a hundred things to tell her rushed into his mind and yet he was speechless. His lack of words didn't matter, because she could read what was in his eyes.

More languorous kisses and caresses followed the first until House was naked and Cameron was straddling his stomach, nude save for the loose shirt she'd stolen from House's drawer the night before. He tugged on the hem and let his fingers wander to the soft skin beneath it.

"Gonna take this off?" he asked, his tone casual and undemanding.

They'd already dealt with each others' scars and he knew that he'd made it clear that he found her beautiful. He even knew that she believed it. He'd seen her in the shower and multiple other times since her surgery, and she'd been only a little self-conscious. If she wanted to remain covered right now, he wouldn't push her. He was actually a little surprised when she crossed her arms at her waist, grabbed onto the cotton shirt and pulled it up and over her head, tossing it to the side and letting her hands rest lightly on her thighs.

Her hair was swept over one shoulder, concealing that breast, while the other was bared, and House, already aroused just by their gentle foreplay, had a hard time not pulling her down so that he could taste her delicate skin. It was her eyes that stopped him. She was peering down at him, not really asking a question, but seeking some sign from him although she already knew how he felt. This was one time he didn't mind repeating himself.

Large, strong-boned fingers, muscles and tendons flexing, traced along her clavicle, sweeping aside the silken strands which hid her from his sight, and then tracing down the sides of her rib cage, thumbs just brushing over the soft mounds of her breasts. He reached her waist and then stroked his right index finger up the line of her scar before sliding his hand over her shoulder to curl behind her neck.

He didn't need actual words to talk to her.

Cameron bent forward and House's fingers tickled the fine hairs at the base of her skull as they kissed once again. Soon that wasn't enough, and his hands roamed over the body he'd been aching for for over three weeks. Cameron's need was almost as great as his, and her kisses grew deeper and more frantic as she positioned herself and touched what she could of House's body while holding herself above him. His thigh was protesting, but he didn't give a damn, and when they joined together all pain was pushed aside by the pleasure that thrummed through his body. Whispered little pleas from Cameron became tremulous cries as her body rushed towards completion and House shouted her first name to the ceiling and continued to draw as much pleasure from her as he could.

She managed to fall to the side, completely limp and satisfied, with a beatific smile on her face. One arm was still flung over his sweat-dampened chest, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. A minute's respite was all she allowed herself though, and then she pushed herself up, leaned over House's body and grabbed his pills from the side table. He had been lying in a pleasantly pain-free afterglow, but the rattling sound was like Pavlov's bell, and the pain in his leg made itself well known once more.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a pill from between her fingers.

"Thank you," she replied, brushing her fingertips along his jaw. "You made me feel beautiful. You always do."

He turned his head to look at her and wondered if his face gave away the utter bewilderment at the fact that she could ever see herself as other than beautiful, with or without a scar. This wasn't the time for debates about self-image though, and he just touched her cheek lightly before letting his hand drop to his side.

"Glad I could help," he quipped instead of saying anything serious, "but you can explain to Cuddy while we're late."

"You're always late, and technically I'm not even supposed to be back," she said with a touch of smugness in her voice.

House chuckled and held out his hand, waiting for Cameron to take hold of it, which was often their equivalent of post-coital snuggling. "In that case, pull up the comforter and let's grab another hour of sleep."

Cameron interlaced her fingers with his and sighed contentedly, but House wasn't quite comfortable. He tugged his hand until her arm was draped over her body again and then reached his other hand over to cup her shoulder as she settled her head over his heart.

"Much better," he mumbled.

Her peaceful sigh seemed to rise from the bottom of her toes, and he felt her smile against his chest.

"Much."

* * *

The rain was still pouring down when House and Cameron arrived at the hospital and they were glad that PPTH had a garage since neither of them was up for running. It was after ten o'clock but luck was with them; Cuddy had been in meetings since eight. They were able to slip in relatively unnoticed and made their way to Diagnostics. Chase and Foreman knew better than to make any comments about the fact that they were arriving together nearly two hours late.

Cameron dumped out the gasoline-flavored brew which Foreman called coffee, and put on a fresh pot. House found things to do in the conference room while he pretended not to be waiting for it, then grabbed a cup the second it was done and retreated to his office.

Since their patient was on the road to the recovery, Cameron, Foreman and Chase were just required to keep an eye on him, run a few additional tests and complete paperwork. He was due to move from the ICU to the pediatric ward by late afternoon. Cameron shocked herself by thinking that sounded like the perfect time for her and House to sneak away. It was bad enough that they'd arrived late, now she was planning to leave early! House was definitely a bad influence on her, she decided.

Unfortunately, her brief flirtation with rebellion met a hasty end when Cuddy managed to track House down just after lunch. He was duly sentenced to an afternoon of clinic duty, and Cameron settled herself at her desk and started going over some new research about the long-term effects of a new synthetic immunosuppressant drug. Chase ended up leaving by four thirty, and Foreman was paged by neurology so she held down the fort alone.

By five o'clock she was feeling very antsy and had resorted to playing sudoku on her laptop. Not exactly an acceptable use of her time, and one she'd rarely indulged in before. Usually, even if there wasn't a patient, she'd find something useful to do, but not today. She couldn't help it; the thought of spending a peaceful evening with House, followed by a repeat of the morning's activities, had taken over the usually responsible parts of her brain.

When she heard the melodious sound of House's three-beat gait, she couldn't keep the goofy grin off her face, and quickly started shutting down her computer. A minute later he pushed open the connecting door between his office and the conference room and poked his head inside.

"Ready?"

"And waiting," Cameron replied, standing up and grabbing her pocketbook from the back of her chair.

"Oooh, someone sounds bored. I should have paged you down to the clinic and made you handle the wrinkly ninety year old man with hemorrhoids."

His face twisted into an expression of exaggerated horror and disgust as he spoke, and Cameron shuddered.

"No thanks. I kept myself busy."

"And where did the rest of your merry band go? No, let me guess. Chase ditched at four-thirty, and Foreman stuck around until you told him he should leave."

Cameron pulled her coat from its hanger and followed House out of the office.

"Close. Chase did have something he needed to go do, so he left a little early, but Foreman went up to neurology. Problem case."

"Oh you're such a goodie two-shoes. Can't even tattle on Chase. I saw him practically run through the lobby at four-thirty. I think the only urgent appointment he had was with his hair dresser or his tailor, and judging by his hair, I'll vote tailor."

"Well, since I'd been hoping that you and I would be leaving early too, I couldn't blame him too much," Cameron told him.

House glanced down at her oh-so-innocent face and smirked at her. "Do tell. Did you have plans for us? Dirty plans? Dirty plans that will require a hearty meal for strength?"

Cameron rolled her eyes but resisted giving him a smack on the arm, even when his expressive eyebrows danced up and down on his forehead and his eyes bugged out slightly and sported a lusty gleam. She couldn't really make any verbal retort since her plans had definitely leaned towards the smutty side.

They chatted on the ride home, about mundane everyday things. House regaled her with imitations of the more amusing clinic patients, and Cameron summed up all of the medical articles she'd read. He had planned on making dinner but she suggested that they just pick something up, and a short detour later, they arrived at the townhouse with two bags from the Mexican restaurant on the other side of the Princeton campus. Cameron had figured that take-out would mean a shorter transition between dinnertime and bedroom time, but after they ate, a comfortable lull settled over them both.

They each knew, by the various touches and outright sexual remarks, that they would be ending the evening intertwined and pleasantly sated, but what had started in the hospital as a rush towards the finish had now calmed into a relaxing evening. They'd get to the finale eventually, but they were happy just to be together.

This was particularly strange for House, who had for so long declared that sex was the only reason to have a relationship, and everything else was just the foreplay needed to get the woman in the sack. He'd realized his error months earlier, but it was driven home again as he played the piano while Cameron read and he found himself completely fulfilled. He vowed never to admit to Wilson that he'd been wrong about everything.

The clock on the mantle ticked around to nine o'clock and Cameron closed her book with slightly more noise than necessary, causing House to look over at her. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes and touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue before speaking.

"I was just thinking about heading to bed," she said with an air of absolute innocence.

House wasn't buying it for a second, and the scrape of the piano bench being pushed back became the ending measure of Bach's 14th Invention. The two of them were halfway to the bedroom when House's phone started ringing. Of course he ignored it, and tapped Cameron on the leg to keep her walking and ignoring as well, but then the answering machine kicked in, and Foreman's voice echoed through the tiny speaker.

Stopping in mid-stride, House leaned heavily on his cane and pressed his hand to his forehead. This was not part of the plan.

"We have to go," Cameron said, nudging him with her hip. "Maybe it won't take that long."

"No, we don't have to go," he replied. "I do."

"Hey, I'm part of the team too," she protested.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that. I'm not calling in Chase either, and I'd love to drag him away from whatever he's doing right now. Foreman and I should be able to handle it. It's bound to be something neurological. Hell, that's what brought the patient into the hospital in the first place. It's just something obscure. We'll run some tests, I'll be back in two hours."

She looked up at him with a small pout on her face. "You're being awfully magnanimous about going in."

"Yeah, well the alternative is ignoring him and waiting for the fifty pages and phone calls from Cuddy. I don't know about you, but they put a crimp in my mood."

A huffed out sigh was her response. "Same here. You'll call if you need me, right?"

"I'll call," he said as he turned back towards the living room and walked towards the door. "Now go drape yourself over the bed, so I think I've wandered into the Playboy Mansion when I come home."

"Pfft! You wish!" Her eyes sparked as she grinned at him.

He glanced over his shoulder, cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. "Actually, no I don't," he said, and then left quickly before she could form a reply.

Cameron tried to stay awake; she really did. She watched television in bed, read, and even dragged her laptop into the bedroom and surfed through every news site and a half dozen sudoku pages. By midnight, however, her eyes were half-lidded for reasons far from lustful intentions, and she turned off the "Tonight" show and reluctantly went to sleep. She was at least grateful that they'd woken up early and gone into work late, and her last thoughts were of House holding her close.

House's thoughts, meanwhile, barely had time to flit in Cameron's direction as he, Foreman and another neurologist tried to pinpoint why the twenty-four year old in their care was rapidly going down hill. After repeated tests, calls to family members, exhaustive differential diagnosis sessions and one heart attack for the patient, they were able to come to an agreement on a diagnosis. Another hour later and the man wasn't exactly improving, but he was at least holding stable. Foreman agreed to stay the night just in case, and House limped out of the hospital feeling utterly drained. Two late nights in a row were two more than he liked.

He drove slowly through the darkened streets because his eyes were in a war with his brain. The brain, of course, didn't want to get itself killed and was demanding that the eyes remain open. It was almost two-thirty when he at last shuffled through his front door and dropped coat, keys and cane to the floor. He limped the rest of the way to the bedroom using the wall for support when needed.

The fact that Cameron was asleep didn't come as a surprise, but the feelings that flooded him upon seeing her curled in his bed were. It wasn't that he hadn't felt them before; that interesting mix of possessiveness, protectiveness, pride and yes, love, had flowed through him a number of times now, and he was almost familiar with how it felt. The surprise was that every time felt like the first time. The light from the full moon highlighted her pale skin, high cheekbones, and long lashes. He padded into the room as quietly as he could and sat on the foot of the bed to strip off his clothes.

He slipped between the covers, still assured that she was sleeping, and stared at the curving line of her back from shoulder to waist to hip. It was an unspoken rule that there needed to be a line of demarcation between them as they slept. It was self-protection on his part, and Cameron had always respected that. It meant that what cuddling there was, was reserved for after sex and before sleep, and the majority of the night was spent a short arm's length apart. Tonight, that wasn't good enough for House.

He grabbed his pills from the nightstand, tossed one to the back of his throat, and then eased over in the bed, still moving slowly so as not to rouse Cameron. When he was close enough, he molded his body around hers, sighing at the warmth of her skin against his, at the soft feel of her, and the way even his thigh felt a little better when it was touching her. He draped an arm over her waist and breathed in the scent of her hair. By morning he would have moved to his side of the bed and she would never know that he could be a ridiculous sap when he was overtired and overworked. He gently kissed the back of her head and thought of the strange peace of their relationship and the subtle give and take that he'd fallen into almost by accident.

He breathed deeply again and whispered, "I can do this too," into the stillness.

He never saw Cameron's eyes blink open, and she was careful to keep her breathing steady. She let her eyes drift closed again, and no more than a handful of heartbeats later, they were both asleep.


	9. Chapter 8

I churned this part out pretty fast! Hopefully you will like the direction the story is taking. I feel that it is a natural progression of a realistic relationship, and that's what I'm trying hard to show, so please let me know if you think I'm missing the mark! As always thank you all for your comments... they always make me grin, and sometimes blush at the compliments!**  
**

**Chapter 8**

Halloween passed, along with Cameron's official return to work date, and things at the hospital returned to the normal routine. Desperately ill patient, seizure, shock, heart attack or aneurysm, three different tries for a cure and a fourth producing another miraculous discovery. The pattern wasn't exactly the same for each person who passed into their care, but Foreman had once quipped about the steps it took for them to cure a patient, and it had stuck.

In between patients, the clinic kept them busy, and in the off hours, House and Cameron's relationship maintained a steady, even-flowing course. Chase and Foreman generally kept comments about it to a minimum, which was good because House would most likely have hit them in the crotch with his cane if they'd said anything within his earshot.

So it was, on a Friday evening, that House and Cameron were sitting around the townhouse and waiting for Wilson to call and say that he and Julie were on their way over. The four of them were heading to dinner and he had volunteered to drive. Cameron didn't mind doing things with the other couple, but House made no secret of the fact that he preferred their outings with the Wilsons to be limited to just the male half. Usually they were, but every once in a while 'his' Wilson made an extra effort with 'the little woman' and made their comfortable trio a semi-awkward foursome.

Cameron finished putting in her earrings and went to sit in the living room while House changed from one slightly wrinkled shirt to another. The harsh ringing of the phone split the air and House grabbed for the one in the bedroom but ended up talking to the dial tone. The ringing had come from Cameron's cell phone. He limped out of the bedroom and down the hall, seeing Cameron perched on the edge of the sofa with the phone pressed to her ear and her free hand worrying the edge of her skirt. He paused in the doorway and waited for her to look up.

Her expression, when she did, told him that it was a personal call, and then her use of the words "Yes, Mom, I've just been busy," verified it. He knew that he should really turn around and give her some privacy, but that simply wasn't in his nature and he limped closer instead, ignoring her slightly peeved expression. He eased himself into the soft leather armchair, and as soon as he was comfortable, Cameron stood up, shot him a look that was better suited to him, and headed for the bedroom with her phone still pressed to her ear.

He considered following her but decided against it. He'd just badger her for the information when she came out.

She didn't come out for almost fifteen minutes, and by that time House had called Wilson and told him that they'd meet them at the restaurant.

"Did Wilson call?" Cameron asked as she walked quickly into the room. "We're going to be late."

"I called him. We'll meet them at Anthony's. Now let's hear what kept you on the phone for twenty minutes."

"It was just my parents. You've got a set yourself, don't you?"

Her tone was unexpected and House had to quickly reevaluate how to approach her. Meeting snark with snark would either make her defensive or quiet. Being nice and gentle would probably make her think he was just being condescending. She couldn't be blamed for that since that was often the case, especially when dealing with patients.

"I dropped from the sky fully-formed, and don't let Wilson tell you any different," he replied, deciding to go with a modified snark. "You, on the other hand, were definitely not raised by wolves and yet you're wearing your tense face. So spill it." He cocked one eyebrow and his piercing gaze told her they weren't leaving until she told him what was said.

"My mother wants me to fly back for Thanksgiving," she said, rolling her eyes and trying to get it over with quickly. "I told her I have to work, so that's that." She left out the interminable minutes where her mother had tried to talk her into coming, and the offers that had been made to counter each of Cameron's arguments.

"Allison Cameron weaseling out of family time?"

She shrugged, feeling awkward and uncomfortable being questioned about a subject she wasn't comfortable about to begin with, and then flopped down onto the far end of the sofa. "We're just not that close. It's not a big deal."

"Are you the same woman who tried to convince Chase to make nice with his Daddy?" House asked in his lilting, taunting tone.

"It's not the same thing," Cameron insisted.

"Right. Chase's father just left and made his mom an alcoholic. Yours were nasty enough to pass on a terminal niceness gene."

Cameron continued to stare straight ahead and when House looked at her he felt a knot form in his stomach as other reasons for her distant behavior came to mind.

"Or they the opposite of nice, and that's why you overcompensate," he said, tossing out ideas that were still half-formed clouds in his mind. "Cameron." His throat felt tight and his jaw was clenched. "If they hurt you--"

She startled and pulled herself back from her thoughts. "What? Hurt me?"

"That's what I said," House said, concern masked as harshness. "If you--"

"I wasn't abused," she said definitively. "I mean, a little spanking here or there. I grew up on a farm in the Midwest," she said, as if that explained it. "But they never hurt me. They're good people. They love me. I love them," she said simply.

"And yet you'd rather do anything other than spend Thanksgiving with them," House said in that oh-so-rational tone of his. "That's pretty much a dead giveaway to dysfunctional family ties."

Cameron sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes staring at the floor. Obviously she wasn't going to get out of this without some explaining.

"My brother and sister were in high school when I was born," she started, very matter-of-factly. "I wasn't exactly part of the plan."

House stared at her for a moment. "They never told you that," he said with certainty.

"No. They never did," she replied. "They told me that they loved me, and I know they meant it. But they were tired by the time I came along and… it was just different. I was different than they expected." She shrugged her shoulders. "Kids take up a lot of time," she said as if repeating something she'd heard a thousand times, "and they had the farm, and two kids already half grown, and they'd already done the parenting thing. I was really small growing up and not much help to them. They didn't know what to do with me."

"Welcome to the world of ninety percent of the population. Despite claims to the contrary, most of us didn't grow up with white picket fences." He spoke in strident, pitiless tones, but in his mind's eye he saw a small, delicate, young version of the woman beside him, curled up in her childhood bedroom with a book while everyone else was at some homecoming parade.

Cameron let out a breath that was a half-hearted laugh. "I know. It's just uncomfortable for me there now. I never really fit in with them and now it's worse. When I got married…" She glanced at the floor, regretting having brought it up.

House picked up where she left off. "When you got married it was the best of both worlds," he said. "You got someone who loved you and your family could fit you into the perfect mold they'd been waiting to stuff you into." The memory of trying to do something very similar with her, himself, flitted through his brain and he brushed it aside.

Another self-deprecating laugh. "Something like that. Didn't quite end up that way, and then they really didn't know what to do with me. A widow in the family? A widow who went right on to medical school?" She shook her head.

"But they still love you," House said, stating what he knew to be fact despite his own surprising feelings of animosity towards them.

She looked over at him and caught the tenderness in his gaze. "Yes. They do. I'm their baby, and they'd do just about anything to help me. They just usually don't know what that might be."

"So go home for Thanksgiving. You're going to feel guilty if you don't go, and then you'll just be mooning around here making me miserable." He jabbed her lightly with his elbow and rolled his eyes.

"They want you to come too."

Those few words stopped House cold, and the humorous face he'd been in the middle of making, fell away and was replaced by incredulity.

"What?"

"I told them I was seeing someone and now you're invited too," she said, looking at him with a doubtful expression on her face. In fact, she had used that as an excuse, telling her mother that she didn't want him to be alone on Thanksgiving.

"You told your white bread, Midwestern, farming family that you're dating your boss. Did you mention the limp and the twenty year age gap?" he asked sarcastically.

"Thirteen, and I told them how old you are. That puts you at a year younger than my brother. Not exactly a big deal in my family."

"And the boss part?"

"I may have left that part out," she admitted, studying his eyes. "I just told them you're a doctor at the hospital. They've never really asked much about my position there, and I guess I haven't volunteered much. My sister will figure it out. I've talked to her about my boss, Dr. House. But she probably won't say anything."

"Oh, well that's good. Wouldn't want big brother Bubba to feel like he has to pound me into the good earth to protect his sister's honor," the sarcasm was thick, thicker even than usual, and Cameron's mouth pursed up and quirked to the side.

"I didn't say you have to come," she told him. "I don't even want to go. You should just stay here, and I'll make an appearance and they'll be able to say that they're not neglecting me, and then I'll come back and we can forget all about it until next Thanksgiving or Christmas."

House stood up and paced over to the piano, thumping his cane hard against the floor as he went, and using it to propel an innocent magazine off the coffee table as well.

"I'm not the kind of guy you take home to your mother," he groused.

"I already said that I'm not expecting you to go," Cameron replied, voice rising in pitch. "Look, can we just drop it? I probably won't even go myself. The hospital is busy. I shouldn't go that far away." She hated the fact that her parents were, in effect, causing an argument between her and House, and they hadn't even met him.

"Fine. Dropped," he said, in a tone that implied that it was most certainly not going to be dropped.

"Why don't we spend some time dissecting your childhood instead?"

"Because my parents know better than to invite me for Thanksgiving."

Cameron let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. She already knew how this was going to play out. House was right; she'd feel guilty if she didn't go. So she'd suck it up and call her mother in the morning and tell her she'd be arriving in time for the turkey. She'd spend a tense long weekend there, fly back and then House would either pester her for the details or pretend that she'd never left. Meanwhile, it would take another week before she'd feel good about herself again.

House had lit a cigar and she closed her eyes as the smoke tickled her nose.

"Tomorrow I'll put in the paperwork for the days off," she said, keeping her eyes closed and her voice low and neutral.

"Sorry? I don't know what you're talking about," House snarked.

She sighed in exasperation and lifted her head. "You'll be okay having Thanksgiving alone, right? Maybe you can go to the Wilsons'." She immediately felt like an idiot for babying him. He'd spent years without her and would manage one solo holiday just fine.

"I'll muddle through," he replied, sarcastically. He didn't know why he was irritated. He sure as hell didn't want to spend quality time with the Camerons, and he did think she'd mope around if she didn't go. If she went without him then he was getting what he wanted. With tense fingers he plucked the cigar from his mouth and stubbed it out. "If you still want dinner we need to leave now," he told her.

"I'm the one who picked the restaurant. We should go," she replied, pushing herself up off the sofa.

She moved to the closet and grabbed her jacket along with House's, handing it to him as he limped to the door. She looked up at him, just a brief little glance, and her expression held so much; worry, affection, uncertainty, and a silent plea for understanding. House took his jacket and slipped it on while Cameron passed through the door. He followed after her and closed and locked the door, then turned and watched her walking to the car, back straight, stride even, solitary and composed. Watching her, he realized why he was upset. He didn't want to go with her for a torturous family reunion, but he wanted her to ask him to go.

* * *

It had been a week, over a week, and Cameron hadn't mentioned Thanksgiving, and neither had House, but the time was getting closer and he knew that she'd have to give him the paperwork for her time off soon, and then he wouldn't be able to resist a petty insult, because like a stray dog, he always struck back hardest when he was injured.

He wondered if he'd ever get past that base instinct.

No, neither of them had mentioned Thanksgiving, but now Wilson was sitting in his easy chair, interrupting General Hospital and going over the minute details of the upcoming Wilson family Thanksgiving. It was actually more the Bennet family Thanksgiving, because all the relatives were going to be Julie's, which was part of the reason why Wilson was complaining.

"You and Cameron should come," he said as he started winding down. "That would give me at least a couple of people on my side."

"Cameron's going home for Thanksgiving." The words came out quite easily, he thought, but judging from the look on Wilson's face they hadn't sounded as light and careless as he'd planned.

"Ah. Meeting the Camerons. That should be fun," Wilson said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

House swiveled in his chair and grabbed his Magic 8 Ball, shaking it vigorously. 'Try again later.' Naturally.

"I said Cameron's going. Not me."

Wilson looked a little perplexed, that boyish look of puzzlement drawing wrinkles across his forehead. "Umm, shouldn't that make you happy? You hate people. You especially hate relatives. You most especially hate relatives that aren't your own."

"Who said I wasn't happy?"

"You're about to crush that ball," Wilson said mildly in explanation. "What, did you get into a fight about it or something? You tell her you weren't going? She seems fine so it can't be that big a deal to her."

"Yeah, she's fine," House replied, shaking the ball again. "I'm the one who convinced her to go."

Now Wilson looked more confused. "She didn't want to go? Didn't you tell me she grew up on a farm or something with a Norman Rockwell childhood?"

"Apparently it wasn't all corn festivals and bonfires."

House wasn't looking at Wilson, which was always a cue that he was feeling uncomfortable. The feeling transferred to Wilson and his eyebrows drew together as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Well, then…"

House seemed to know exactly what Wilson was thinking and swiveled back round to relieve him of those thoughts with a look and a shake of his head.

"Nothing like that," he said, not admitting that the idea had gone through his mind as well. "Just your normal dysfunction, not movie-of-the-week style."

Wilson let out a breath. "Oh, well, good," he said, sounding relieved. He went back to looking confused. "I'm still not sure why you're upset. You hate the holidays. You always say you wish you could just avoid them. This sounds like the perfect arrangement."

House grunted noncommittally and Wilson squinted at him trying to get a better read.

"You can always come over to our place. We'll have plenty of food, and Julie--"

"Julie hates me," House sniped. "She only puts up with me slightly more now because she likes Cameron, just like everyone else."

"Well then, tell Cameron you'll go with her after all."

"She didn't invite me." The words were short and sharp, making Wilson's eyes widen.

"Wait, wait, wait. Is that what this is about? You're upset because she didn't invite you? You just got through telling me that she doesn't want to go back herself. Did you really expect her to open herself up to your ridicule on top of it?" Wilson laughed. "I think she knows you a little better than that."

House glared at him and Wilson rethought his position. It was intriguing to see House actually offended by an accusation of thoughtlessness.

"Okay, maybe you wouldn't have insulted her, but she knows you wouldn't be comfortable. You can't fault her for being nice. It's generally considered a good quality. You know that she probably wants you to go."

House went back to shaking the Magic 8 Ball. 'Definitely True.' Shut up, stupid ball. He opened his desk drawer and tossed it inside.

"Then I guess she can ask," House said grumpily. "Did you need anything else?"

Wilson heaved himself from the chair, shaking his head. "We'll keep a place for you," he said, and shut the office door on his way out.

* * *

It had been a week, over a week, and House hadn't mentioned Thanksgiving and neither had Cameron, but the time was getting closer and she knew that she was going to have to get her plane ticket and submit her vacation paperwork to him. She was hoping that he would just sign it and leave it at that but she wasn't counting on it. Some sort of snide remark was almost inevitable and then he'd look repentant because he never meant to hurt her, not anymore, but sometimes his own hurt got in the way.

She was already tense about visiting her family, and now she had the added stress of House and his reaction to the whole thing. He would have a miserable time, he'd said as much himself, but she still wished that he had said that he wanted to go with her anyway. Instead he'd let her ramble out a solution, and then managed to look satisfied and vaguely hurt at the same time. She'd known at that moment what he wanted from her, but she hadn't been able to give it. If she asked him to join her, he'd be pleased for an instant, but then he'd get that panicked look in his eye, and start scrambling for excuses not to go. Why put them both through that awkwardness?

Her desk drawer slid open noiselessly, and she pulled out the paper she needed to fill out. It had been waiting there for three days. As her pen scratched along, marking dates, printing her name, giving emergency numbers, tension coiled like a snake in her stomach, while the air around her became suddenly heavy and oppressive. She was envisioning the lonely plane ride half-way across the country, and the smile she'd slide into place just in time when her father collected her from the airport. There would be painful silences because neither of them would know what to say, and then at home everyone would be boisterous and talking, and she'd have to excuse herself to the kitchen because being alone in a crowd made her feel like she was suffocating.

The pen stopped moving and she stared down at it and wondered how much different it would feel if she had just one person standing beside her, even if he was as silent as she. A long sigh seemed an extension of the swirling breeze outside the window.

A few minutes later, she saw the shadow of his form through the blinds as he entered his office and sat down at his desk. He'd been down in Imaging with Foreman, running an MRI on their latest patient. If he was back already, and alone, then it meant they'd found something useful. Which meant he was probably in a good mood. She picked up the form, took a breath and walked through the door and into his domain.

"What, no knocking?" he said, with no real animosity.

"Sorry, next time I'll remember," she said lightly, wanting to keep him bantering.

He nodded towards her hand. "What's that? Lab results?"

So much for banter. She held the paper out, letting it float to his desktop where he peered at it with knit brows before raising his eyes to her. If he said anything, she would just forget the whole thing, but if he didn't… His mouth opened and then closed again, his expression unreadable.

"It's for Thanksgiving," she said, stating the obvious and feeling like a moron. She paused for a second, and in that instant her heart started pounding and her chest and throat grew tight. She hated it when her emotions got the better of her and she clenched her jaw and stared down at the form, lying untouched on his cluttered desk. "I wish you would come with me," she said quickly, "but I know it won't be fun for you, and I know how much you hate this kind of thing, but I still want you with me. You don't have to think of any excuses. If you don't want to, then just say so, and we'll forget I even asked."

Her eyes flitted briefly to his face, but he wasn't looking at her. He was reaching back to the bookcase under the window, and pulling a sheet of paper from under the heavy mortar and pestle.

"I booked us first class," he told her. "I need the extra leg room."

He held the paper out to her and she recognized an airline logo, and then the confirmation information below it. Her eyes went wide and she stared at him, face a mixture of astonishment, relief and happiness. When she didn't speak, he grew uneasy and had to fill the silence.

"Couldn't send you to the wilds of Wisconsin alone, now could I?"

He stood up, feeling the need to pace, if only to the coffee machine and back. Her silence was unnerving. As he stepped from behind his desk, she blocked his path and reached out to grab his hand.

"Thank you," she said, and he heard an 'I love you' in between the words and felt a kiss as she squeezed his hand.

"Like I said," his tone was laid-back although his eyes were matching hers in intensity, "you're worth too much to risk out there all alone. Might get mauled by a cow or something."

She grinned up at him with her eyes shining, and he decided that look was worth a long and awkward weekend.


	10. Chapter 9

I just want to take a second here to thank all of the wonderful people who have been reviewing not only this story but all my others as well. You probably have no idea what a big smile it brings to my face to read a thoughtful and happy review. The fact that I still get reviews for "Saints and Saviors" is a total thrill, and this week, which was a particularly crappy one for me in terms of my health (damn lupus) I got a handful for it and also one for one of my personal favorites, "The Sweater", and the even the little MRated short I posted a week ago! Thank you all so much. Writing is one of my joys, but having such great response makes it that much sweeter.

And now onto the story... as I go further and further from canon, in terms of what is known about the characters' histories, it becomes a real tightrope walk for me. I only hope that you find my take on things to be a realistic one and that I do justice to these characters I've become so fond of.

**Chapter 9**

Pop.

Pop.

House had forgotten how much he hated feeling of the pressure in his ears equalizing during take-off. He was counting the minutes until they'd reach cruising altitude and the cabin crew could start wheeling those lovely little drink carts around. At the moment, he was beginning to think that spiking Cameron's with Vicodin might be a good idea.

"Did you remember your toothbrush?"

It was the fifth inane question in less than ten minutes, and House just stared at her for a second before replying, "I don't know, Cameron, maybe I should crawl through to the cargo hold and check the luggage."

Her lips gathered into a pout and she lowered her eyes. "Sorry. Nerves," she mumbled.

Slowly, he closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was the one who had wanted to come, and not for himself, but as support for her.

"Yeah, I guessed that from the way you've been channeling my mother."

"Sorry," she repeated.

He looked around and then rolled his eyes at himself. Who the hell was he thinking would see them, and why did he even care? He huffed out a breath of air and let his arm fall casually over the armrest, capturing Cameron's hand where it lay on her thigh.

"We've got a few hours to kill. Any ideas, because I hear the in-flight movie sucks."

Her expression relaxed slightly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "The in-flight movies always suck," she said.

"I'd suggest making out, but I think grandma across the aisle would have a coronary and I'm off-duty."

A tilted little smile showed Cameron's amusement but she followed it up with a quick eye-roll and a whispered "House!"

That reaction made him chuckle deviously. "Didn't anyone tell you? You can't take me anywhere."

"Except home to meet my parents," she replied sarcastically but with that tiny smile still in place.

"Well, yeah, I'll try to behave for that," he said, but then goggled his eyes and made a face.

Cameron stuck out her tongue at him, but then a flash of nervousness reappeared on her face and she turned her head to look out the window. House saw it anyway and his ever-flexible features resumed their normal expression. He nudged her gently with his shoulder.

"I'm not along for the ride just to embarrass you," he told her.

When she looked at him, another little smile pulled the right corner of her mouth. "I know. I'm glad you're here."

"Good. Now, are you going to tell me more about the Cameron clan? I have a limited amount of time to memorize everyone's name," he snarked lightly.

"There actually won't be many people," she replied. "Just my parents, brother, sister, their spouses, and my brother's two girls."

House quirked up one eyebrow. "I figured you'd have a dozen little Cameron-spawn nieces and nephews."

That got him a little shrug. "I think taking care of me was enough for my sister, Kathy," she said, letting her gaze drift towards the front of the cabin.

"I can't imagine you were much trouble," House said, giving her another gentle nudge.

"No, but having to take your little sister everywhere from school shopping to dance classes to Trick-or-Treating and then being the on-call babysitter even when you move out probably gets old fast."

House didn't have anything to add, so he stayed quiet. Being comforting still wasn't something he was any good at. Cameron sensed that he was suddenly uncomfortable and realized he probably thought he was supposed to be saying something.

"We're closer now," she assured him. "Talk once a month or so. Sometimes we email. She got married when I was twelve, to a nice guy. Frank. They both went into real estate and they do pretty well."

"And your brother?"

"Tom's two years older than Kathy. He was a good brother. I mean, he didn't tease me unmercifully or anything," she said. "By the time I was four, he was out of the house and enlisted in the Air Force. Went career, and now he's back living in town with his wife Cheryl and their kids, Lizzie and Sara. He works for a car dealership and she stays home with the girls."

"Sounds like the all-American family," House said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

"Pretty much," Cameron replied, staring out the window again. "Kathy was homecoming queen and prom queen two years running. That first time I went Trick-or-Treating, I went as a princess and she let me wear her crown."

"I'm sure you were just adorable." House did try to infuse some snark into his words this time, to lighten the mood, and she smirked at him just as he'd hoped she would.

"I'll have to dig up a picture if my parents have one," she said, sticking out her tongue again.

She slipped almost immediately back to her more subdued tone and House found himself rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He didn't like seeing her so painfully introspective.

"Anyway," she went on, "Tom was on the football team, and practically every other team too, and then my dad was really proud of him for joining the force."

Silence settled over them and House felt the need to break it.

"I take it you weren't the cheerleader, prom queen type."

"Not exactly."

"It's tough being the black sheep of the family because you got straight A's. Ostracized because you're a brilliant doctor instead of the local kindergarten teacher," he said, sounding a bit gruffer than he meant to.

"What?" she was surprised by his words and the tone in his voice, and pulled her hand away from his. "I never said anything like that." She shook her head and forced him to meet her gaze.

"But that's how you feel," he pressed on, because words of brutal honesty, even if they weren't necessarily true, still tumbled out much more easily than words of comfort.

"No, it's not. I don't feel sorry for myself and if I'd known that's what you thought, I wouldn't have asked you to come." She pressed herself into the corner of her seat, as far from him as possible.

He felt like an ass. Well, as fuck-ups went, this was a good one. He'd have to phone Wilson and tell him that whatever bet he had with Cuddy could be settled now.

"If you never felt sorry for yourself, then what did you feel?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and low.

Her left shoulder rose in a half-hearted shrug but she turned and looked at him instead of keeping her eyes pinned to the passing clouds.

"Lonely."

Yes. He was an ass.

"I'm sorry," he said, and for practically the first time, the words came out unbidden with no inner debate about whether or not he should lower himself to apologize. "Sometimes I talk just to hear the sound of my voice. You may have noticed that."

She was surprised by the naked regret that appeared in his eyes. They were always the first things she looked at when she was trying to read him. They never lied to her.

"Yeah, once or twice," she said, slowly unclenching.

He reached over and grabbed her hand again before leaning towards her and saying, very lowly, "I don't want you to feel lonely this time."

Her tense fingers relaxed under his and he was grateful, not for the first time, that she was so quick to forgive. They were quiet again, but this time he was afraid to say anything to break the silence even when it felt like a wall between them. He just didn't know how. Cameron did it for him.

"You only asked for names. I gave you their life stories. You must be horribly bored. I know how much you hate listening to trivial nonsense."

He briefly squeezed her hand in silent gratitude. She knew he wasn't good with words of comfort, so this time she'd provided her own.

"Yeah," he snarked in agreement. "You always were the overachiever. At least you left out their medical histories. I would have had to ask one of the flight attendants for sedatives."

Cameron chuckled at his words, and House could feel her hand begin to relax under his. She resettled in her seat, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. House stared at her for a few minutes. Just when he thought she'd gone to sleep, he felt her hand turn, and she curled her fingers lightly with his.

* * *

The flight touched down in Milwaukee at a little past ten a.m., just two and a half hours after leaving Newark. Cameron had ended up keeping her eyes closed for much of the time, and House wasn't sure if she'd actually slept, but at least she looked a bit more relaxed now then she had at take-off.

Gathering up their luggage and finding the main entrance to the airport had taken another half hour, and they were gratefully seated in the lounge area while they waited for Cameron's father to arrive. He was going to ring Cameron's cell phone when he pulled up out front so that he wouldn't have to park. The amount of waiting time allowed in that drop-off/pick-up lane was very limited and so they were situated near the doors in order to make a quick exit.

House was watching the news on one of the half-dozen televisions suspended from various pillars, and Cameron had her phone out and was fiddling with the ring-tones. It was mildly annoying, and something House would expect more from himself, but since it seemed to be keeping her calm, he refrained from snatching the phone from her hands.

When the triumphal march from "Aida" blared through the tiny little speakers five minutes later, he only jumped a little.

"Dad?" Cameron quickly answered the phone and listened for a few seconds. "Okay, we'll be right out," she said and flipped the phone shut.

"Let me guess, he's outside," House remarked, flippantly.

Normally, Cameron might have made her own snappy reply, but this time she just said, "Yes, he just pulled up," and started gathering her pocketbook and rolling suitcase.

House grabbed his cane, stood up and then extended his hand to her in an unusual show of chivalry. She looked at it, and then at his face, watching the subtle emotions at play there. His hand was strong and he pulled her up easily, then held on for just an extra moment.

"All set?" he asked, but the words held so much more meaning; showing his support and concern.

"Good to go," she replied, feeling as if she was ready to face just about anything with him next to her. He'd already seen her through some of the worst times of her life, and now he was with her even through the mundane daily trials.

They walked through the wide sliding glass doors with House just a step behind her, and Cameron spotted her father standing on the curb beside his truck-like SUV. She gave a little wave, and headed over.

Lowering his head, House trailed after her, jaw working furiously, hand clenching on cane and suitcase. He had expected to feel awkward but now he actually felt nervous. Apparently meeting the girlfriend's father never got easier.

"Allison!" The grey-haired but still vital looking man extended his arms, and Cameron let her suitcase stand on its own as she moved in for a hug.

House noticed how large the man was in comparison to the fine-boned Cameron. His shoulders were wide, his stance sturdy and straight, and his chin easily cleared Cameron's head. He also noticed the almost tentative nature of the hug, with burly arms wrapped loosely around slender shoulders, a gentle pat given and then a quick step back.

"Good to have you home. Your mother would have been upset if you'd stayed away." The man shifted his gaze from Cameron's face and turned towards House. With hand extended he greeted him. "You must be Greg. I'm Walt, Allison's dad. You probably figured that out."

Greg. Right. People here were going to expect first names. House recovered quickly and took the man's hand, shaking it in that solid, manly way, but not squeezing hard enough to be seen as a challenge. It was strange to note that Walt could have been his father, and in fact resembled him quite a lot with his deep-set eyes and stone-cut features.

"Good to meet you," he said, his manner quickly lapsing into the polite one he only brought out for special occasions or to make Cuddy think he was up to something.

"Hurt the leg in the service?" Walt asked, motioning to House's cane.

"Dad!"

Well, that was unexpected. He didn't know if he'd thought Cameron would have explained it or not, but the idea that it would be brought up so casually and bluntly hadn't occurred to him. Cameron -- Allison -- was looking mortified and a little scared. He caught Walt's eye and held it.

"Nope, nothing so dramatic," he said. "Bad luck and a blood clot. A good war story would probably sound better," he continued, just a shade of his normal sarcasm seeping in.

Walt appeared satisfied with that and nodded his head sympathetically. "Looks like you still manage all right."

"Dad…" Cameron said again, pleadingly.

"I get by," House replied.

Another nod from Walt and the subject was closed. He reached for Cameron's suitcase while hitting the hatch release on his key ring, and a minute later the three of them were on the road and headed for a small town an hour away.

House had climbed into the back seat, despite his leg, in order to give Cameron and her father a chance to talk, but the ride remained mostly silent. There were a few questions about how she was doing, and work at the hospital, but then he started talking about the farm, the town, and Cameron's siblings. There was some talk about sports, which House took as an attempt to pull him into the conversation. Football was a sport, and he never had trouble talking about sports, but his responses were mostly short, with no elaboration. Watching Cameron become more introverted as the city gave way to the suburbs and then to fields and lightly rolling hills took most of his attention.

When Walt turned into a long dirt driveway, House started looking around with interest. The farm wasn't exactly as he'd pictured it with red barn and white fencing and little white farmhouse right next to it. The house itself was white, and set in a perfect square of grass, bordered by a wide field on the right and the drive way and dirt driveway and barnyard to the left. The house had a large front porch and wide steps flanked by now-dead flowers, but the barn wasn't red, it was covered with pale grey aluminum siding and set quite a distance from the house. Farm equipment was lined up outside it, and the fields behind it were surrounded by yellow-tape electric fencing.

"There's your mother now," Walt said, pointing towards the porch. Apparently the woman had heard the sound of the engine and the rumble of rubber over gravel. He pulled to a stop beside the grass. "You two get on in the house and I'll pull around to the garage," he said, leaving the engine running.

Cameron glanced over at House, but he didn't have any trouble climbing out of the back seat and they met at the rear of the SUV. The hatch was unlocked and they pulled out their suitcases and headed for the porch. Cameron was in the lead again, and House watched her mount the porch steps to be enveloped in her mother's embrace.

The woman was talking a mile a minute and House couldn't contain a small grin. Cameron didn't often ramble, but it was now obvious that when she did, it was a trait passed down by her mother.

"Greg!" She exclaimed as House made his way to the top step, suitcase banging up behind him. "I'm Helen, Allison probably already told you that. It's good to meet you! I'm so glad she convinced you to come."

She held out her hand, and House took it while studying her features, thinking that he could see the shadow of Cameron within them. Her hair was still mostly dark, probably through the help of a dye, but cut to her chin, and feathered back in that style which seemed to be favored by ninety percent of women over a certain age. The eyes were almost identical to Cameron's, shading from bright blue to a more muted grey as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. Her features were delicate although she was overall taller and bigger than Cameron, and the hand within his was rougher but he felt the same long fingers which had been entwined with his on the plane.

"Yes, Allison can be very persuasive," House replied, giving a quick teasing glance in Cameron's direction.

"Well come inside. It's freezing out. We're expecting snow this weekend, but of course it won't stop the big football game on Saturday," she went on talking as the three of them entered the warm house which already smelled of turkey and sweet potatoes. "You can take your bags upstairs, Allison, you know the room." Helen paused and looked at her daughter again, lovingly but with a critical eye. "You know you really should cut your hair. You're not fifteen anymore," she said, reaching out to tuck chestnut strands behind Cameron's ear. "And I don't think you're eating enough. Are you working too hard?" Her voice lowered in volume. "Or is your accident still bothering you?"

House had wondered if Cameron had told her parents about her second surgery. There had been no flowers from them, and no card. Now he had his answer, along with the reason.

"Wasn't actually much of an accident," he blurted out. "She didn't stumble into the bullet. A punk asshole attacked her."

Helen and Cameron both looked shocked, and House snapped his mouth closed.

"I'm sure I didn't mean anything by that," Helen said, looking from House to Cameron. "I'm just glad you're okay, baby." She pulled Cameron close again and kissed her cheek lightly.

"We'll go up and get settled, and be down in a few," Cameron said, taking a deep breath. "When will the others be arriving?"

"Half an hour or so," Helen said, seemingly happy to move on to a new subject. "You two take your time."

House was the first to head for the stairs this time, needing a minute to gather himself together and remember that he was supposed to be on his best behavior.

"First door on the left," Cameron said, from behind him, going slowly as he made his way up the staircase. "Sorry about all the stairs," she continued, as if the architecture of her parents' home was her fault.

The dark wood stained door squeaked as House pushed it open, and he limped inside to find a neat, organized little bedroom, with quilt-covered sleigh bed, and Thomas Kinkaid prints on the walls.

"So was this your room?" House asked, wanting to forget the small scene downstairs and hoping to avoid talking about it. "Because boinking in your childhood bed would break a few taboos." He sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced lightly while leering at her.

Cameron rolled her eyes, just happy that when it was just the two of them, she felt she could breathe again. "No. This isn't the house I grew up in. This farm is a lot smaller. They moved here when I went to college. I think they could have retired but Dad's so used to keeping busy that I don't think he'd know what to do with himself without a farm. They have a few people who do most of the daily work now, and he just oversees things."

She sat down on the bed next to him and jerked a little when he reached up and brushed her hair back unexpectedly. He stared at her, with eyes as serious as she'd ever seen them, and she looked at him questioningly.

"I like your hair," was all he said.

It shouldn't have made tears prick the backs of her eyes, but it did, and she blinked quickly a few times. "Thanks," she replied with a crooked smile pulling at her lips. "That's good to know."


	11. Chapter 10

This chapter was interesting to write, but also took a good deal of thought. I hope that it comes off well...**  
**

**Chapter 10**

While Cameron washed her face and reapplied her makeup, House flipped the cap off his bottle of Vicodin and dry swallowed one of the chalky white pills. Even with the roominess of first class, his leg still felt stiff and achy, especially after the trip from the airport. He wasn't eager to display his addiction in front of Cameron's family, so he hoped that one pill would be enough to last for a few hours and tossed the bottle into his suitcase.

Sitting on the bed, he stared down at them, mouth forming a thoughtful frown. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given a damn about what anyone thought of his pill-popping habit. In fact he usually flaunted it more if it seemed like someone would be bothered by it.

Analyzing the change in his modus operandi was interrupted when Cameron walked back into the room and dropped her little makeup bag onto the bedside table. She almost asked House if she looked okay -- a question universally asked by women -- but she stopped herself when she remembered who she was with. Glancing at the open suitcase, she saw his pills nestled in the middle of a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

"You're leaving those up here?" Her brows did that little gathering motion which caused a tiny crease above the bridge of her nose. "You're not going to want to come all the way upstairs for them."

"I'll manage," House replied, feeling a little bit defensive. After all, he was actually making an attempt to make a good impression on her family. "Probably better if they don't think you're dating an addict right off the bat. Give 'em time to grow to love me first," he continued, drawling out the last part of the sentence.

Cameron bent over and snatched the pills up in her hand. "You need your pills," she said, "and if my family says anything, you have my full permission to be as rude as you want." She handed them to him as he looked at her with a sort of admiration and slight surprise. "I've never asked you to be someone you aren't," she said, voice quiet but strong. "You don't need to put on an act or impress anyone here for my sake."

House's fingers caught hers lightly as she passed him the pills. "Oh, so I can burp and scratch myself and ask your brother if he ever looked at a cow in a sexual way?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows and grinning.

She smirked at him and squeezed his hand, amber bottle pressed between their palms. "Okay, maybe a little bit of an act wouldn't be a bad thing."

With his cane braced on the floor, House rose to his feet and pocketed the bottle. "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille," he quoted teasingly.

Cameron smiled and then let her eyes trace the line from blue eyes, to strong shoulders, down a muscular arm and then to smooth wooden cane and the floor. She rested her hand over his and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. She couldn't remember ever doing that before. It drew attention to something both of them generally ignored.

"I'm sorry about my father asking… I told my mom that you used a cane but I didn't elaborate and I don't even know if she mentioned it to him."

He shrugged off her concern. "He's direct. I like that about a person. Well, as much as I like anything about a person 'Cause you know really I don't like people. You and Wilson are the exceptions."

A little weight lifted from her chest when he winked at her and she stepped back and started to head out of the room. She could hear people arriving and it would be better to get introductions over with as soon as possible, she decided. House followed her down the stairs, and peered over the top of her head at the new arrivals. No children, so this was Cameron's sister and brother in law, Frank. She had Cameron's eyes, just like her mother, but her hair had been dyed a honey-blonde color, and she was taller than both of them, seeming to take after her father in build. There were wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, but a layer of make-up, heavier than anything Cameron wore, smoothed away most of the imperfections wrought by age. As soon as she spotted them on the stairs, she handed the corning ware she'd been holding off to her husband and pulled Cameron into a hug as soon as she stepped off the last stair.

"Good to see you, sis," she said, and then she turned to House and pulled him into a quick hug as well. "You must be Greg. Good to meet you," she told him as she stepped back, ignoring the somewhat shell-shocked expression on his face.

Frank introduced himself next, but before any real conversation could start, the front door opened again and the rest of the Cameron family hurried inside out of the cold. Tom looked just like a younger version of his father, and his wife, Cheryl was cheerful and girlish looking despite her age, with dark hair pulled back into an easy to care for ponytail, and just the barest hint of lipstick. Their youngest daughter, Lizzie, age twelve, took after her; but their oldest, Sara, who was a sophomore in high school, bore an almost startling resemblance to Cameron. She even had the same quiet manner, and House found himself wondering if she would be the next member of the family to break away.

Within minutes, the raucous greetings had subsided, and House found himself ushered into the den with the rest of the men, while Cameron was pulled into the kitchen by her mother. He looked over his shoulder at her as she walked down the hall, flanked by her sister and sister in law, both of them talking to her at the same time. They were perfectly friendly, perfectly nice, but just from the set of her shoulders, he could tell that she was feeling overwhelmed.

He turned his attention back to the men and the television, answering a question tossed to him about who he was rooting for, and trying to remember when he'd last been so easily accepted. Of course, if they hadn't been perfect strangers, they would have known his reputation as a generally heartless bastard and wisely kept their distance. For Cameron's sake, he was glad that his reputation didn't extend to small farming communities in the rural Midwest.

They were strangers, but House couldn't quite treat them like strangers. He could hang out with a stranger in a bar, trading dirty jokes, or watching a game on TV while still keeping his anonymity. Hell, he'd hung out with patients in clinic rooms watching sports on his handheld television. They'd been nameless people to him, more like props in his busy life, and he hadn't paid them any more attention than he paid to the bowl of mixed nuts on the bar.

These people were Cameron's family, a part of her past, and his ever-curious mind wanted to examine them; to find the roots of her personality by watching them. They shouted at the television, but didn't swear, slapping each other on the leg or back after good plays. There was mundane chatter between plays, and questions lobbed in his direction that were no more probing than: 'You ever play sports?' 'What's the best Superbowl game you ever saw?' 'So, what's the weather like out there in Jersey? Any snow yet?'

Tom went to the kitchen to get them beer and chips, and as alcohol mixed with Vicodin, House found himself falling into the congenial banter. A touchdown, a cheer, and he took a swig of his beer. He caught a slight motion out of the corner of his eye and looked through the doorway into the dining room. Sara was sitting at the table with books and papers spread out in front of herself. House watched her for a second and heard pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, a woman's laugh and a young girl's giggle. He turned his attention back to the guys, who were innocently oblivious to anything more than ten feet from the television. He gave one more quick glance in Sara's direction and could easily picture Cameron in her place.

* * *

Cameron finished adding salt and butter and milk to the boiled potatoes and started mashing them with the electric hand mixer. She'd already mashed the squash, the turnip and the sweet potatoes. Mashing she could definitely handle, but she was glad that her mother and sisters were taking care of the pies, and the stuffing. She wasn't eager to display the fact that her cooking skills hadn't improved much since high school home ec. Heck, even her youngest niece seemed to know her way around the kitchen better than she did, and was rolling out homemade crescent rolls.

The conversation filling the kitchen had been near-constant, with only short asides about how much sugar to add, or whether or not the oven seemed hot enough. Most of it centered around things that were happening in town, but they tried to pull her in as well, asking her how she'd been, what her apartment was like, whether it was as cold there as it was in Wisconsin. Her niece was the only one who mentioned her job. She asked how many people she'd saved, and Cameron had smiled and told her that she didn't really work alone, but that they'd helped quite a few people.

Kathy was the one who finally said something about House.

"So, Greg seems nice," she said, while adding sliced apples into a pie.

Cameron almost laughed. "He's very nice to me," she said judiciously.

"And smart too, if he works at the hospital with you," Helen interjected.

"Right," Cameron replied, hoping that would be the last question about that particular subject. She didn't want to have to explain their working relationship to her mother. "He works at the hospital with me," she repeated.

Kathy looked at her sister, and caught a quick unspoken plea. Even with the difference in their ages and the distance between visits, Kathy could still read her sister's expression. She wouldn't mention that she'd thought her boss was also named Dr. House.

"He gets around well, even with that cane," Helen commented, not noticing Cameron's flinch. "You know, that nice Darryl Henshaw who graduated a few years before you, he has a cane now too. Car accident."

"That's too bad," Cameron said, just to fill the silence.

"Was that what happened with Greg? Or is it something else? Eddie Polk had to have part of his arm cut out because of some kind of cancer," she rambled on, trying to make it sound casual.

Cameron knew what she was really asking.

"Greg doesn't have cancer," she said quietly, not adding that she didn't make a habit of dating men who were dying. Not adding that she hadn't planned on being a widow at twenty-two and ruining their pretty fantasy about her. She scraped the sides of the pan and adding a little more butter. "He had something called an infarction in his leg. It didn't get caught right away and to avoid amputation, they had to cut away a lot of the dead muscle."

Cheryl's face tightened into a sympathetic wincing expression. "That sounds horrible. Why not just cut it off if he has to use a cane anyway?"

The little ribbon of defensiveness that wound itself into Cameron's emotions was a bit of a surprise to her.

"Because it's his leg, and he wants to keep it," she said with finality, and she turned the mixer back on while the conversation drifted away from her and on to more of the town gossip, movie reviews and discussion about television shows she'd never seen.

* * *

The savory smells from the kitchen continued to waft through the house, and at a little before three o'clock, Cameron was sent to tell the guys that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes. She passed through the swinging door between kitchen and dining room and smiled at Sara who was still going over research for a science paper. She had set the table but pushed aside two of the placemats to continue working.

"We're just about ready," Cameron told her. "Looks like you've made some progress." She motioned to the stack of notes and hand-written pages.

"Yeah, almost done," Sara replied with a shy smile. "I'll clear it all off and get things ready for dinner."

"Thanks," Cameron gave her another smile and headed towards the den just as loud and enthusiastic shouting erupted from the room.

Apparently a big play had just been made, and the guys were all groaning and claiming that the referee was blind. Well, all but one of the guys. House was smirking and collecting money from the rest of the men. Cameron watched the scene for a minute, House looking almost relaxed, and everyone else acting as if he'd been part of the gang for years.

House glanced up in time to see her look of surprise turn into a somewhat wistful smile. He wanted to call her over, but she spoke before he got the chance.

"Almost time for dinner," she told them. "Better start getting ready." She grabbed one of the decimated bags of chips from the coffee table. "Hopefully you're still hungry for turkey!"

"Oh, you know us, Alli, we can always eat," Tom said with a laugh as she headed back to the kitchen.

Frank stood up and started collecting the empty beer bottles and bowls of snack food. "I'll just go run this into the kitchen," he said. "Don't want Kathy coming out here and shouting at me for making a pig of myself," he chuckled.

Walt got up as well, saying that he wanted to take a quick check on the animals before washing up, and that left House alone with Cameron's older brother. A man who was actually a year older than him.

"Alli's got that sweet look in her eye when she looks at you," Tom said, in a gently ribbing tone.

"Well she is very sweet," House said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Yeah," Tom agreed and then let silence fill the room for a minute. "I'm sure she's told you about her husband," he said, looking directly into House's eyes.

House cleared his throat to buy a second of time. "She doesn't mention him much," he said honestly, "but yeah."

Tom nodded. "He was a good guy. Treated Alli like a queen."

It was on the tip of House's tongue to snark back that he wasn't much of a prince if he married her knowing he was dying. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

"I'm sure," he mumbled.

Tom glanced off towards the kitchen as if he could see Cameron moving around behind the wooden door. "Yeah, well you seem like a good guy too, and she obviously likes you or she wouldn't have brought you here. I still remember her trailing after me with her brown curls all messed up and a stuffed bear under her arm." He pinned House with his gaze again. "And I know she's a grown woman, but she's still my baby sister."

House didn't have a reply to that. He was just thinking about how he's been able to brush off Foreman's attempts at playing big brother to Cameron, but when faced with the real thing, it was harder to scoff. Forty-five years old and he was sitting in a rural farmhouse being intimidated by a man he would probably never see again. It was definitely a strange feeling. Normally, he would verbally steamroll anyone who even looked at him cross-eyed, but now he held his sarcastic remarks in check. In fact there were very few making themselves known. Some part of his brain realized that the man in front of him had a right to be protective. Another small part almost wanted to tell him that he had nothing to worry about.

Tom slapped his hands on his knees. "Well, I'd better wash up and help bring the food to the table," he said. "I expect a chance to win some of my money back when we watch the game after we eat," he continued with a broad grin, and it was as if their earlier conversation hadn't even taken place.

Ten minutes later and everyone was crowding around the dining table, being directed to seats by Helen, and calling dibs on various parts of the turkey. Cameron was grateful to be seated next to House, and she was even happier that despite being quieter than she'd seen him in the den, he didn't seem completely uncomfortable.

After the stress and awkwardness of introductions and first conversations, the actual Thanksgiving dinner was actually a relatively relaxing affair for both of them. The food was excellent, and most of the conversation centered around complimenting the cooks. The rest was easy family banter, with memories bandied about, only a few of which involved Cameron, and more recent events which no one seemed tired of discussing.

Desert was served in the den, where the next football game was playing, but this time the women joined the men, leaving the pots to soak until morning. It was a peaceful evening, but Cameron remained unusually quiet, and by the time it drew to a close she was eager to escape to the guestroom.

"Well, none of your family are complete idiots. That's good." House launched into snarky banter almost as soon as the door was closed.

Cameron rolled her eyes but was secretly grateful for the way he could ease her mind just by being himself. "Glad to hear it," she told him.

He considered telling her that her brother had basically threatened to hunt him down like a dog if he hurt her, but decided to keep that information to himself. Instead he stripped down to his boxers, pulled on his Stones t-shirt, crawled into bed, and tossed a Vicodin to the back of his throat. Cameron was in the bathroom, going through her nightly routine, and when she came out she had her hair loose around her shoulders, and a light cotton nightgown skimming her knees.

Once she settled herself between the crisp, clean sheets, she reached out a pale arm to turn off the light, and the room was quiet except for the soft rustle of cotton and the muffled squeak of the mattress. Rolling to face House, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness and traced the outline of his form in the patchy moonlight. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, she smiled, and let her hand drift to his strong jaw.

"You know…this isn't my childhood bed," she said, coyly suggestive.

It had been such a hard day for her, so stressful and tiring, as she was confronted with her past in a hundred little ways and several big ones. Now, here she was, lying next to the man she loved; the man who loved her, and she needed to feel connected to him. Her hand traveled from his jaw to his chest before he reached up and caught her wrist.

House swallowed hard as he looked into Cameron's eyes. It was so easy for him to see what she wanted, and sex wasn't really it.

"Enticing as you are," he said gruffly, "I really don't think you want to do this with your parents right next door."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her words when he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, but without the usual fervor that accompanied their lovemaking. Instead, he was soothing her, gently making his feelings known to her. When he pulled back, she sighed in contentment and he tugged on her wrist until she was positioned with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest.

"Now go to sleep," he said when she would have argued that he hated cuddling.

Instead, she shut her mouth and closed her eyes, and her breathing began to slow. When his arm tightened around her slightly, the tiniest of smiles flashed at the corners of her mouth. She remembered those words he'd said to her when he'd thought her sound asleep, and wondered if he was thinking them now; his version of 'I love you'. She listened to his heartbeat beneath her ear and couldn't ask for more.


	12. Chapter 11

I'm rather happy with this chapter I think. It covers a lot of ground, but does so at a realistic pace... or at least I hope so! Thank you all for your continued support and comments. I just grin every time one comes into my mailbox :)

**Chapter 11**

Cameron was downstairs in the kitchen by the time House finished his shower, and he slowly made his way downstairs. Slow not just because of his leg, but because he was busy looking at every picture in the hallway, and making note of the oh-so-cheerful stencils that bordered the ceiling. He passed through the living room as he followed the scent of bacon, and paused at the old upright piano that stood between two evenly placed windows. The music on the stand was Bach, and he wondered if it was a piece Cameron had played in her youth.

The cloud cover from the previous day had pushed off and the sun bathed the kitchen in a warm light. Cameron's mother greeted him cheerfully, as if she hadn't already been up for two hours, and Cameron's eyes smiled at him over the rim of her coffee cup. Breakfast was as good as House had expected, with pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browned potatoes and coffee that was almost as good as Cameron's. He devoured it all, and Helen was very pleased to have someone so appreciative of her cooking.

With only the three of them together, House expected that Helen would start asking her about her job, her life, and maybe even the so-called accident that had left her with a permanent reminder. That wasn't what happened. The conversation remained as light and inconsequential as a supermarket tabloid, with little bits of town gossip about people Cameron had gone to school with years before, and tiny comments to Cameron about how a little bit of blush would brighten her up, and that the green sweater she was wearing wasn't really the right color for her. Most of the questions were asked of House; just simple things about his family and where he'd grown up. He kept his answers short and simple, concentrating mainly on his food. 

Cameron took her shower and changed while he relaxed on the bed, and by eleven o'clock they were on their way out the door, with Helen's keys. She'd given them to Cameron along with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and House knew that as bad as she was at showing it, the woman loved her daughter.

The movies didn't start until one, so Cameron drove him around town a little bit, pointing out the high school, the library, and the little town square, complete with bandstand. She had a couple of amusing little stories to go with each one, and House was glad that she had happy memories of the place even though she hadn't been completely comfortable there.

"Tom called when you were in the shower," she said, as she circled the center of town and headed for the little movie theater at the end of the main street. "He invited us over for dinner tonight and I told him we'd go." She looked over at him questioningly. "If you're not in the mood, I'm sure he won't care if we cancel though," she said when she saw an almost uneasy look on his face.

"Nah, I'm fine," he replied. "Your brother probably just wants another chance to make sure I'm worthy of your affection," he added, keeping his tone in the light sarcastic range.

"What?"

House pressed his lips together and then quirked them into a pucker which swung from one side to the other. He hadn't really intended to tell her about that little conversation, but his mouth had sped past his brain.

"Yeah, he mentioned that I'd better treat you right," he said, still keeping that light, nearly mocking tone. "Said your husband treated you like a queen." 

Now that was something he definitely hadn't planned to tell her, and yet it had slipped out and hadn't even sounded like a joke. It was those damn insecurities coming forward and making him forget that he was supposed to be above all that. He didn't even glance in her direction, knowing that his eyes would give everything away. His muscles tensed with each passing moment of silence, as he waited for her to say something.

"He did," she finally said, in a voice that was actually louder than he'd expected.

He kept his eyes trained on the passing buildings, but said, "You never talk about him."

"I don't hear you mentioning your ex-girlfriend much either," she replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, well she's the bitch who crippled me. By all accounts, your husband was a hell of a guy."

She was quiet for another few seconds as she pulled into a parking spot behind the theater, but made no motion to shut off the engine. "That time in my life was really bittersweet. We planned this beautiful wedding, and my family was so happy. I think it was the first time that everyone was really enthusiastic about something I was doing. They were all so proud of me." Her voice cracked just slightly and she took a deep breath. "Then six months later the fractured little fairy tale came to an end, and I was back to being alone."

The depth of sadness in her voice forced House to look at her, but she wasn't crying, and there weren't any tears in her eyes. She looked into his face, open and honest.

"He's a part of my life and he always will be. I loved him and he made me really happy, but I can't think about him without remembering the bad times too, and I guess I'd rather live in the present and be happy than dwell on the past and what might have been."

House looked away, but felt her warm hand settle over his.

"In case you were wondering, you're part of what makes me happy now, and I'm extremely content with the way you treat me too," she said, and he swiveled his head back to her and saw that she was smiling at him.

"Good to know," he replied, knowing that there was a slight smile pulling the corners of his mouth, and not even caring that it spoiled his air of nonchalance.

* * *

As promised, House bought the popcorn, and as promised, they sat in the back row of the small theater. The blood and gore soon made Cameron lose her appetite, but that just left more popcorn for House, so he didn't complain. He also wasn't arguing when it was she who started planting delicate kisses on the tender skin of his neck during the second movie. Kissing proved the perfect distraction from the onscreen slaughter as far as she was concerned. House didn't care about her reasoning; he was too busy reliving a few pleasant experiences from his youth. They kept their shows of affection to strictly PG, but neither would be able to recount the middle part of "Land of the Dead."

Thanks to daylight savings time, it was pitch black when they exited the theater, and for once Cameron was not shy about the fact that she was gripping House's arm with all of her strength. They walked to the car and then as soon as the doors were locked, House rolled his eyes back in his head, lunged at her and made a series of grotesque lip smacking noises and groans.

Cameron's scream rattled the windows and he was laughing even when she hit him in the chest with her pocketbook. He was still snickering when they pulled out of the parking lot, despite the fact that she was muttering some rather unkind things about his parentage.

Tom and Cheryl's house was on the outskirts of town in a little development that had sprung up when Cameron was still in college. Luckily, not too much had changed, and she had no trouble finding it. They arrived just at six o'clock and House rang the bell with the tip of his cane, still feeling rather amused at himself. Cameron had apparently forgiven him, because she had her hand wrapped around his fingers as the door swung open.

The greetings were just as warm and cheerful as they had been the day before, and they were led inside to the living room which opened to the dining room as well.

"Lizzie is sleeping over at her friend's house," Cheryl said, with her arm draped over her other daughter's shoulder, "but Sara here wanted to finish her science report. Something about anatomy, right honey?"

"The side effects of major anti-rejection medications on transplant patients, mom," Sara said, and then looked at Cameron. "I just finished typing it up. You can read it if you want."

Tom looked like he was about to say that Cameron wasn't that interested, but she quickly spoke up with a, "Sure, I'll take a look," and her genuine smile pleased House as much as Sara.

Cheryl explained that dinner was just about ready, and headed back to the kitchen while Sara led Cameron up to her room. That left House alone with Tom again, and after the conversation in the car that afternoon, he wasn't feeling as eager to contain his inner snark. 

Tom gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder and walked over to the fireplace.

"I was just getting ready to light a fire. Good weather for it, that's for sure."

"Yeah," House agreed, sounding noncommittal.

He followed the ex-Army Major across the room and looked around, eyes capturing every detail. They settled on the mantle. There was a picture of Cameron there; a picture of her and her husband, to be exact, obviously taken on their wedding day. It was nestled among the other family wedding photos, and House's eyes were drawn to it immediately.

"Good picture," he said, careful to keep his voice even.

Tom was just putting the match to the newspaper and he tossed it among the kindling and stood up, nudging the fire-gate back into place. He saw what House was looking at and smiled that indulgent, pleased smile people often get when looking at particularly cute babies or similarly endearing but innocuous things. That look alone was enough to aggravate House.

"That was a perfect day. I mean, none of us knew how short it was going to end up lasting, but we were all awfully proud of her. She was a beautiful little bride," Tom said.

"Yes. Beautiful. But she's done a hell of a lot more than look pretty since then," House snapped

Tom's expression hardened and he fixed House with his dark brown eyes. House didn't even flinch.

"I know that," Tom replied, tightly.

"Really? Because it seems like no one in your family does. She's working as a doctor in one of the most prestigious fellowships on the east coast, and none of you even ask how her job is going. She took a bullet to the chest but fought back and ended up testifying against the bastard who attacked her, but your mother whispered about it being a damn accident, as if she should be ashamed of it. As if she didn't help put the asshole in prison. She's your sister, but you talked more to me than to her on Thanksgiving."

House was staring daggers at the man in front of him, and his words came out at a fast clip, infused with all of his trademark attitude. Tom still hadn't looked away, and House couldn't bring himself to do so either despite the fact that the burly man looked like he was trying to think of how best to dismember him without getting blood on the floor. House wasn't easily intimidated.

"I don't defend many people," House continued. "I'm not a nice guy. I meet a lot of complete morons at the hospital, and I don't care if they know what I think of them. I've been on my best behavior here because of Allison. She wanted me to come because she needed the support. So I came. But I'm all done playing nice with people who hurt her. Even if it's unintentional." He took a breath and flexed his fingers around his cane, stopping himself mainly because he knew that Cameron was right upstairs and the last thing she needed was to come down and find him fighting with her brother. "You're not the only one protective of her," he muttered.

"I see that," Tom said, muscle in his jaw still twitching, but now looking slightly ashamed beneath his anger.

Their eyes were still locked in challenge but then, but mutual, unspoken consent, they both broke off and stared down at the flames instead.

"She was never what you'd call a typical kid out here," Tom said, lowly, "and hell, by the time she was in grade school, I was being stationed all over the country. Hardly saw her except holidays until Cheryl and I moved back here when she was in high school. I guess it was easier for everyone to just let her do her own thing than to try to understand her."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to put any effort into actually knowing her," House said snidely, earning him a blistering look from Tom.

"Doesn't mean we don't all love her," he shot back. "We were worried sick about her when we heard about the shooting," he continued, after a minute of contemplating the fire. "Mom wanted to rush onto the first plane but Alli insisted that she was all right. She said she had someone taking care of her." He glanced over at House. "I'm guessing that was you. Mom got upset any time anyone mentioned it, and so we all tried to forget about it, I guess. No one wants to imagine something like that happening to someone they love. I followed the trial… checked the papers online for any mention of it… saw when she testified and when he was sentenced. She never called, and I guess I figured she wanted to forget about it."

"She did."

"She's all right now, isn't she?" he asked, again looking at House as if for visual confirmation.

"Yeah. She's a hell of a lot stronger than people give her credit for." It was annoying to know that less than a year ago, he'd been one of the people to short change her, and that probably made his tone that much harsher.

"Yeah. I guess that's true."

House shifted his stance and was mildly irritated at the fact that he almost felt sorry for the muscular, buzz-cut, middle-aged man in front of him. He told himself that what he was about to say was for Cameron's sake.

"She probably wouldn't mind if you made an effort to get to know her now," he managed to say without feeling the need to kick his own ass for his sentimentality. "Or at least stopped treating her like she's twelve."

Tom looked towards the stairs and then back at the fire.

"Probably wouldn't be a bad idea."

When Cameron and Sara came back downstairs talking animatedly, the two men were acting as if no conversation more serious than a football wager had taken place. They were sitting opposite each other on the sofas which flanked the fireplace, and each had a beer bottle condensing lightly in their hand. Cheryl came in a few minutes later to announce that the food was ready, and they all gathered around the dining table in preparation for another good meal.

It was late by the time Cameron pulled into her parents' driveway, and she and House tried to be very quiet as they let themselves in and made their way upstairs. One light was still on in the living room, to light their way, but the rest of the house was dark and silent.

That deep silence had a heavy feeling to it that made them quiet even when they were behind the closed door of the guestroom. Undressing and washing up were done with an extreme sensitivity to noise, and when Cameron climbed into bed she was even careful to keep the mattress from squeaking too much.

She did let out a contented sigh as her head hit the pillow, and House reached over and took hold of her hand.

"You had a good time tonight," he said, quietly.

"I did," she admitted with a smile. "It was really nice." She laughed lightly. "Funny to say that talking about work was nice. Usually we try to forget about it for a few hours when we're at home. I guess Sara was the one who started asking about it, but I was really surprised that Tom didn't change the subject."

"Well, we pretty much finished the sports talk while you were upstairs," House said. "You know, you've talked about one sweaty linebacker, you've talked about them all."

"Yeah, right," she said with another little chuckle.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Allison," he said as he closed his eyes, hardly realizing what he'd called her.

Cameron blinked a few times but then smiled, thinking that it sounded nice to have her name casually fall from his lips. She rolled onto her side and pulled his hand towards her chest.

"Thank you, Greg," she whispered, and lightly kissed his fingertips before closing her eyes and falling into a peaceful slumber. 


	13. Chapter 12

Well, this chapter wraps up the Thanksgiving trip and lands them safely back in Princeton. I'm very happy that everyone seems to have enjoyed the previous chapters and the backstory for Cameron. I'm particularly happy that people found it to be realistic in action and dialogue. Thank you all for your comments!

**Chapter 12**

It was a long-standing Cameron family tradition that on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the entire family would gather at the diner in the center of town for breakfast. Then they'd all troop off to the big football game which was held between the neighboring high schools. It wasn't a regular season game, but strictly for bragging rights, which always meant that it was crowded with people who didn't really follow the sport but enjoyed getting together with everyone in town.

The breakfast was one of the things Cameron had been secretly dreading. It was always noisy and crowded at the diner, with people going from table to table to talk to each other, and she always ended up feeling small and invisible in the midst of a throng of happy people. She'd actually been planning to plead a headache and take House for a drive through the countryside instead.

Dinner at Tom's had put her in a better frame of mind, and when she woke up with House snoring gently beside her, she was in a good mood. She gave him a sloppy kiss to wake him and then ran into the bathroom before things went too far, earning a distinct groan from House.

They were both quick to get dressed and ready, but Cameron's parents had no trouble beating them. They were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when the younger couple came downstairs. The group lost no time heading off for the diner. Kathy had already called to say that she and Frank were heading over and would get them to push together a couple of tables.

When they arrived, Tom and his family were there as well, and it didn't take long for conversation to start flying. Within a few minutes almost every other seat in the diner was also filled, and the cheerful atmosphere seemed lifted straight from some episode of "Happy Days." It was exactly the way Cameron always remembered it, and she felt herself starting to get uncomfortable and quiet although she doubted if anyone else noticed. Well, anyone but House.

He sent a few glances in her direction but remained largely silent himself. Idle chit-chat was never his strong point and he seemed to have reached his limit. He didn't make any snide remarks though, even when the conversation turned to a heated discussion about "American Idol" and she knew that he was just dying to say that they were all terrible and that the viewing public was a bunch of morons for buying into the hype.

Sara was seated next to Cameron, and she was the one who pulled her into a conversation by asking her a question about Princeton and whether there were med students working in the Diagnostics department. Tom actually appeared interested as well, and the three of them carried on their own little discussion with occasional interjections from House and little grimaces from Kathy and Cheryl when they overheard too much detail about an emergency tracheotomy.

The food arrived, and everyone was eating, but that hardly slowed down the talk amongst Cameron's parents an siblings, especially when a few of their friends wandered over. Cameron could feel herself tense up as she watched one of her mother's closest friends, Mrs. Fisher, walk across the diner. Sara had just asked her about how MRIs worked, when she felt a bony hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, it is you! Little Allison!" The owner of the hand exclaimed although she surely had to have known that Cameron was coming for a visit, and so couldn't possibly be as surprised as she sounded. "It's been much too long since I've seen you," she continued prattling on as she stroked Cameron's long hair as if she was a precocious child. "Still such a beauty. You know you should have gone into modeling. I always tell your mother that, but you still have such a sad look on your face. I guess coming back here must remind you of your poor husband, rest his soul."

"Maybe she looks sad because she has a stranger fondling her hair and acting as if her life ended ten years ago along with her marriage." The words were harsh, and the entire table fell silent as everyone turned to look at House. "'Little Allison' doesn't need to rely on her good looks. She's a respected doctor, and judging from the looks of you, you could probably use one."

Mrs. Fisher gasped in astonishment, along with Helen, Kathy and Cheryl. Walt was just watching the scene play out as he shoveled sausage into his mouth, Frank was doing the same and the two girls were just staring. Tom had a strange expression on his face that almost looked like at attempt at containing a laugh, while Cameron winced. She knew she should stop House before he said anything else, but something seemed to be holding her back. It was perhaps years of pent up frustration finally being released through House's words.

"I have no idea who you are, and I have no idea what you're talking about!" Mrs. Fisher exclaimed. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Bringing up a tragedy and cooing at a grown woman as if she's a basket full of kittens is your idea of being friendly?" House asked. "And I'm a doctor, just like little Allison here. That's why I can tell you that you'd be better of taking care of yourself instead of worrying about poor dear Allison. Tell your doctor you need tests done on your liver, and if I were you, I'd lay off the booze."

"Well!" Mrs. Fisher looked appropriately furious, but apparently unable to think of a comeback, so she just shot House a dagger-filled look, and stalked off in the direction she'd come from.

"That was one of my oldest friends!" Helen said, upon regaining her voice. She was speaking to House and yet looking at Cameron, clearly indicating that she expected her daughter to say something.

"I'm--" Cameron started to apologize, but House cut her off.

"No, you're not sorry," he said. "And Mrs. Cameron, you should be thanking me. If your friend takes my advice, then she'll probably live another ten years. She's obviously jaundiced, probably due to the beginning stages of liver failure, and judging by the broken blood vessels in her nose, it's caused by a little too much wine while making dinner." He reached over and stole the bacon from Cameron's plate, completely dismissing what had just occurred and asking, "You aren't gonna eat this, right?"

Cameron shook her head, and then surprised herself when she felt irrepressible laughter rising from deep inside. It bubbled out, quite beyond her control, and she knew that her mother would not be happy, but before had time to worry about it, she was startled by the sound of laughter across from her. Tom had started laughing uncontrollably, right along with her, and then her father started, and within twenty seconds everyone but Helen and House was caught up in the contagious effects. By the time they settled down, Tom was saying that he knew his mother loved her but she had to admit that the woman was a terrible busybody.

House continued eating, unfazed by the commotion, and Cameron looked at him and felt as if she was glowing. She couldn't remember the last time someone had defended her. House had promised to be on his best behavior, but at the moment she couldn't have been happier at the fact that he'd lapsed into his snarky, irreverent, self.

* * *

There's a moment during take-off, when the engine noise is loudest, the rumble of the wheels against the tarmac is strongest, and the acceleration is like a physical weight pressing against each person and forcing them back in their seats. It's followed by that first moment of suspension, which seems to invite any nervous passenger to hold their breath while the reality of flight overtakes them.

It was in that precise moment that Cameron stopped holding her breath.

The breath wasn't a physical one, or even a clearly psychological one. She didn't feel like she was running away and about to make a clean escape. She'd actually enjoyed her last few hours with her family. But there was a sense of perfect contentment that wrapped around her now that she was on an east-bound plane with House again seated next to her. They were on their way home.

The football game had been a raucous affair, as she'd known it would be, but after the shared laughter in the diner, she felt more a part of the excitement and less an outsider. She knew that she would never be as close to her family as they were to one another, but she knew that part of the blame was her own. They had never made the effort to really know her, but she hadn't made much of an effort to share, either, assuming that they would all be disinterested at best, and critical at worst. Sara's open curiosity, and Tom's seemingly new-found interest, made her realize that might not be the case.

She'd forced herself to relax and stop worrying about all of that, and had just yelled and cheered and acted exactly the way she would have if it was a Princeton game and House her only companion. Her mother apparently forgave the incident in the diner, and pressed a thermos of hot cocoa into her hands, looking at her with the love that was always there but an added glimmer of understanding beneath it. By the time they talked on the phone again, it might easily be gone, swept away by questions about whether or not she'd cut her hair or gone shopping for make-up, but that one second when Cameron felt that she held her mother's attention completely brought emotion to her eyes that she had to quickly blink away.

Parting after the game had been slightly harder than she'd imagined. She and House would be going back to her parents' to pack and head off to the airport, but this was the last she'd see of the rest of the family. While Kathy and Frank gave hugs and kisses that were nearly identical to the ones they'd first greeted her with, Tom held her much tighter and whispered that he'd call more often. Cheryl promised to send her the recipe for the meal they'd had the night before, and Sara gave her a quick, tight hug and made Cameron promise to email her.

It had been so different than what she'd expected.

There was a soft pinging noise as the seatbelt light went off, and Cameron unhooked hers and raised the armrest that separated her and House.

"Not planning on joining the mile-high club right here, are you?" House asked with raised eyebrow and definite ideas spinning behind his eyes.

"No," Cameron replied with a smirk. "Just thought I'd get more comfortable. Do you mind?"

"That depends. You planning on drooling on me?"

"I might."

House contemplated her for a moment, expression one of intense thought.

"Oh fine, but you're responsible for the cleaning bills."

He slouched a bit to allow Cameron's head to nestle perfectly against his shoulder.

"Thanks," she said as she smiled.

"Glad you came?"

She nodded, knowing he could feel it. "What about you? Total torture, right?"

"I won two hundred bucks, so it wasn't all bad."

A light chuckle was her only response.

"Are you glad I came?" His voice sounded a bit quieter and more gruff than it had a second before. Insecurity hidden behind his usual rough exterior.

Her slender fingers found his and wrapped around them tightly.

"Very glad." She tilted her head up to look at him and saw that he was looking right back at her. "I wasn't lonely this time."

He squeezed her hand. "Good," he said, before quickly looking around for the flight attendant as if in dire need of a drink.

Cameron knew better, but didn't say anything else. She hadn't actually slept during the flight out to Wisconsin. She'd been too nervous and just hadn't wanted to talk. This time she didn't think she'd have any trouble sleeping, and she let her eyes drift closed. The drone of the various airplane noises and the solid strength of House beside her lulled her into a peaceful sleep before the drink cart had even made its way down the aisle.

* * *

The flight was only a little over two hours long, but Cameron managed to fit a pleasant dream into that time, only to have it interrupted by a rough jostling and an extremely familiar tone of voice.

"Hey. Sleeping Drooly. We're about to land. Wake up."

House was getting an early start on being as snarky as possible. They were definitely home.

Cameron roused herself and scooted back to her own seat, fastening the seatbelt while she looked out the window. It was dark out, but the city lights twinkled below, making even Newark seem friendly and welcoming. The plane tilted slightly as it turned to approach the runway, and the drop in altitude came faster, the wide panorama of the city giving way to just a view of the maze of airport runways, and then of their runway in particular. There was the bump of rubber connecting to earth once more, followed by the quick deceleration and the pilot's cheerful voice announcing that they had reached their destination.

The usual wait for the luggage had House picking on every passerby under his breath, and Cameron expected that he would be extra rude and nasty for at least a week to make up for three whole days of being nice. Well, almost three whole days. She actually smiled as she remembered the scene in the diner. She wondered if it would be pressing her luck to ask her mother if Mrs. Fisher had followed House's advice.

"What are you grinning about? Twenty minutes and they still haven't unloaded our luggage. I could have climbed into the plane and gotten it myself by now," House said, tapping his cane impatiently.

"I'm sure it'll be coming soon," Cameron replied, "and I'm just happy to be back home."

"Yeah, well we're not home. We're in an airport. Although if our luggage doesn't come soon, maybe we can buy some newspapers and tape together a tent over by the food court."

"We can use the sports section on your side," Cameron said, unexpectedly playing along.

House turned to her with eyes narrowed. "Ha. Ha."

Cameron laughed and House turned back to the baggage carousel, but he stopped tapping his cane.

The luggage finally started coming around about ten minutes later and luckily their two bags were on the first batch sent out. They quickly collected them and made their way back through the terminal and out to the garage. Cameron's car was waiting for them there. Naturally House had refused to even consider leaving his Corvette in the airport parking lot, but he did insist on driving. Cameron was glad to let him. It meant that they got back to the townhouse at least fifteen minutes faster than if she'd driven. She was surprised that he only swore at three other drivers on the way.

They dragged their suitcases inside, leaving them standing by the door as they continued on into the living room. Cameron collapsed on the sofa, and House walked into the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. He held it up in the doorway for her to see.

"No, I'm okay," she replied to his unasked question, and he limped back out and sat on the lounge chair by the fireplace.

"I'm not cooking," he announced.

"I'm not hungry," Cameron said.

He nodded. "Yeah, me neither."

"Long day."

"Long weekend," he amended, taking a drink. Then he thought for a second and shifted his gaze in her direction. "It wasn't so bad though. The two hundred bucks, and all that."

"Right, the two hundred bucks," she repeated with a small smile. She knew that he just didn't want her to feel like he'd been miserable the whole time. Honestly she didn't think he had, but it was sweet of him to care enough to make that clear, and 'sweet' wasn't one of his usual character traits.

"The food was good, too."

"I suppose you wish I could cook like that," Cameron teased.

"Well of course," he replied, "but I guess I'll settle for having you pay for my cooking skills with sexual favors," he continued, leering suggestively.

"Yeah, sounds like a good deal," she agreed. "Too bad you didn't cook tonight," she said with a smirk.

House was in the middle of tipping his beer back and nearly choked on it. When he finished swallowing, he glared at her, but just got a wide-eyed innocent look in response. He grabbed the remote, flipped on the television and sped through the Tivo listings to find his soap. An hour later, Cameron had made popcorn and House had moved to the sofa. Cameron didn't know when it had been decided that she wasn't going back to her apartment that night. If he had suggested it, she knew she would have made an excuse to stay, and she had a feeling that he would have done the same if she'd made a move to leave.

She hadn't let herself think about it before, but she could now admit that she had been a little afraid of what would happen if House met her family. She hadn't been afraid of how he'd act, although she was amazed by how he'd managed to fit in and keep most of his more sarcastic thoughts concealed. No, she'd been afraid of what he would think of her, and what three days of stressful close-quarters would do to them.

He might have thought she was a coward to have been nervous about spending time with her own family, and a wimp for not standing up to him. He might not have understood why she hadn't wanted to go back, or why she had felt like an outsider while growing up. They might have flown back in silence, with him wondering what he was doing with a whiny child and her wishing she had never agreed to go.

But that hadn't happened. She felt even closer to him now, and it felt like a weight off her heart to have told him about her childhood, and even her husband. Having him there supporting her proved his affection as blatantly as flowers, candy, or any other trite romantic gesture, and it seemed as if he felt another level of trust and although she wasn't expecting him to admit it, she thought that he felt a deeper connection as well.

He started the next episode, but Cameron was starting to feel sleepy, and she could almost feel the pulse of a hot shower against her back. She was glad she had gone back home for Thanksgiving, but that didn't mean she hadn't been carrying a lifetime of stress in her shoulders over the past three days. She stood up and saw his eyes follow her movement with a question in their blue depths.

"I'm want to take a shower before bed," she told him. "I feel gross after being cooped up in the plane." That was true, even though it wasn't her real reason.

"Yeah, not to mention the fact that you're still tight as a drum," he said.

She tilted her head in admission. "Yeah, that too."

He waved her away. "Go on then. I'll be in after this."

She padded down the hallway and smiled at the feeling of contentment that spread through her body.

He was true to his word and limped into the bedroom just as she was coming out of the bathroom. She still had a towel wrapped around her head, and he stripped off his clothes while she towel-dried her hair and slipped into the nightgown that had somehow found a home on the hook on the back of his bathroom door. He shoved her out of the way so that he could brush his teeth, but then brushed a rough mint-scented kiss on the side of her face and she accepted it as an 'excuse me'.

When she finished drying her hair and brushing her own teeth, she found House waiting for her in bed. He often did that, sitting up and leering at her as she came in the room, a sure sign that he was in the mood. But this time he wasn't leering, he was just staring. She thought it looked like he was trying to capture every movement and every line of her body. Hurriedly, she crawled under the covers and propped herself up next to him.

"What?" she finally asked, when he kept looking at her.

"Nothing," he told her. "I'm just glad we're home."

Cameron granted him one of her shy, pleased smiles and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"You know," she whispered, "I think I may owe you a little something."

His hand moved to her hip. "Is this for the sex we didn't have in your parents' house or for the sex we didn't have in the movie theater?"

"We've got all day tomorrow, so let's start with payback for my parents' house and go from there," she said with a little laugh.

He growled lightly and gripped her hip tighter, while she placed a series of kisses from his ear down his neck to the collar of his t-shirt. Obviously that was going to have to go, and he pulled it over his head and flung it to the foot of the bed. Deciding to go for efficiency, Cameron slipped her nightgown off as well, and dropped it off to the side, and then did the same with her panties and saw that he was ridding himself as his boxers.

That was when everything slowed down. They had started off playful and eager, but now that they were naked before one another, after days filled with so much stress and anxiety, they felt that eagerness replaced by a deeper need to reconnect. House reached out and stroked his rough hand over her shoulder, thumb tracing her clavicle before moving down to touch more of her silky skin.

Cameron lay down beside him, one hand holding her head up, while the other painted intricate, invisible designs on his chest. She mapped out each muscle group in her mind and paid them all equal attention, from pectoral to abdominal, and then she curled that arm up around his shoulder and pulled herself gently on top of him.

They both let out deep sighs that were tantamount to moans as they touched, skin to skin, along their entire bodies, and when their mouths met for a kiss, it felt like the sweetness of rain after a drought.

Straddling just his good thigh, Cameron was able to keep her weight settled upon him, and that was what he wanted, to feel the whole of her pressing him to the mattress, to be holding and supporting her completely. His arms circled around her back and held her in place while they continued to share open-mouthed kisses that held words as much as sensuality.

It was actually some minutes later before they both started moving, of one accord, repositioning but still allowing for as much contact as possible. A hand against a breast and another on a strong shoulder, and knees braced around sturdy hips. Again, it was sighs that filled the air as they joined together, moving in a rhythm they'd perfected long before. There weren't any screams of completion or shouts of triumph. Instead, House felt her start to tremble around him and pulled her down for a kiss that trapped all sound as he gave himself up to her body.

Afterwards, as the glow faded, the intensity of their feelings remained and they lay side by side in silence, fingers lightly touching, and breathing returning to normal.

"I think that coming home made the whole trip worth it," Cameron said quietly, turning her head to face him.

He stroked a thumb along the inside of her wrist and tightened his fingers around her hand. "Agreed," was all he said, but Cameron smiled at the words she heard unspoken in his voice, and they fell asleep listening to the wind outside their cozy room and the sound of one another's peaceful breathing.


	14. Chapter 13

Hello everyone! I'm back and writing again after taking a bit of time to rest and recharge, as well as finishing the detailed plotting of the rest of BtS. Comments on this part are particularly requested because this part begins the second half of the story and so obviously it sort of sets the tone. Don't read too much into bits that you may think are overdramatic (but DO tell me if you think they're overdramatic! I can tone things down.) because it's not my intention to rehash what's already been covered in Saints and Saviors, but I do think it's important, every once in a while, to remember how everything started before moving on.

Also, thanks to everyone who's asked about my health. I'm still not happy with my doctor and will likely be switching, but I've actually had a very good week. I think the rest did me some good, and I'm also on a new medication which is controlling my migraines... 5 pain free days after nearly a month of daily headaches. Whoo hoo!

Thanks again for all your support!

**Chapter 13**

The clean, antiseptic smell of the hospital was cut by the even stronger scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm bagels. After four days away, it was a little hard to be back. Sunday had been a perfect, comfortable day and Cameron would have been happy to have a few more of them in a row. She was in a good mood though, hence the bagels, which she'd stopped for on the drive in. The first sip of coffee, starting her day as it had so many times before, was a powerful reminder that she loved what she did for a living.

House still wasn't in the office yet. She'd left him while he was singing to himself in the shower. It wasn't something he did very often and she had a feeling that he'd thought she was already gone, so she wasn't about to mention how it was part of the reason she'd left the townhouse with a grin on her face. Stepping away from the counter, she caught sight of Foreman out of the corner of her eye. He was just approaching the office, hurrying down the corridor with his lab coat flying out behind him like a sail.

"House isn't in yet," she told him as he pushed open the glass door. "Did you really think he'd be here early the day after a long weekend?"

Foreman shrugged. "Wasn't sure. Cuddy paged this morning to say she's sending us a new patient. Thought he might come in early to check it out."

Cameron chuckled. "Cuddy left a message on the machine, but House said if he was going to be dead in an hour then there's nothing he could have done to save him anyway."

"Nice."

"Pragmatic," she countered with a wry smile that was merely a quick flash across her lips.

"So did you have a good Thanksgiving back on the farm?" Foreman asked with just a trace of teasing. She'd told him that she was going back to visit her family.

She smiled more broadly and sat down at the conference table with her coffee. "It was nice," she said.

"House probably wasn't too happy having you gone for that long. The man likes his routine."

Cameron looked at him over the rim of her cup. "He came with me."

"Excuse me?" Foreman exclaimed.

"I said, he came with me on the trip."

"Whoa boy. That must have been fun. He probably had your poor mother in tears and your father ready to deck him after about five minutes! What'd they think about the little girl they dote on dating such a sarcastic bastard?"

Cameron shook her head slightly, wondering at the way people always misjudged her and her past. "Actually, he got on very well with everyone. Better than I did," she said, deciding not to elaborate.

Foreman looked confused and a little embarrassed. "Well then, I guess I'm glad he had a good time."

Her light laugh covered the sound of the glass door opening again. "I probably wouldn't go that far, but he wasn't totally miserable, and I was glad he was there."

"You talking about House?" Chase piped in as he walked across the room towards the coffee maker. "When is he not totally miserable?"

"C'mon, Chase. He's been on a pretty even keel for a while," Foreman said, trying to spare Cameron the effort of defending him.

Chase shrugged. "Still wouldn't call him Mr. Happy," he said. "So what made him not totally miserable over the weekend?"

A small sigh and Cameron knew she wouldn't get out of repeating the story. "House came with me to Wisconsin."

"To meet your parents?" The note of exclamation was only slightly greater than Foreman's had been.

"To be with me while I visited," she corrected. "I asked him to go and he did."

"Never thought I'd see the day he did anything for anyone," Chase said, part snideness, part grudging respect.

He didn't notice that House had wandered into his office and was eyeing them through the not-at-all soundproofed door. He jumped slightly when that door was opened, accompanied by the sound of House's limping gait.

"If you mean that I wouldn't ever do anything for YOU, you'd be right," House said, full of three days' unused sarcasm and glad to be able to vent some so early. "Now, I don't suppose anyone's had a chance to actually look at our patient's file?" he continued, and the work week started in its usual way.

Their patient had just been transferred to the hospital, but his records had already been faxed to the Diagnostics department. House paced the room, getting coffee, idly tossing his pill bottle in the air and thinking out loud about the patient's condition. Within a half hour, the whiteboard was covered with symptoms and possible diagnoses and House was doling out the assignments. He'd been at the top of his game as far as witty and biting commentary was concerned, but Cameron caught a little wink from him as he passed her on the way to his office and Gameboy. That simple, slightly out of character, action had put her in an even better mood which lasted the entire day.

It put her in such a good mood that she even agreed to go to the grocery store after work and had only given a token protest when he'd presented her with the long list from the front of the refrigerator. She often grabbed whatever he planned to make for dinner that night, but major shopping was something they still did independently. He for the townhouse, she for her apartment. Of course since she was spending most of her time with him, she hadn't needed to buy much for her place in quite a while.

Driving through the streets of Princeton, she had her radio on and the weather report was declaring that snow would be arriving soon. They'd already had a few short-lived snow storms, but all accumulation had melted within days of landing. This new storm was being hailed as the first big one of the season and the increasingly cold temperatures meant that the snow would be sticking around for a while. As she was listening, she saw a few random snowflakes blown against her windshield and hoped that she wouldn't be digging her car out in the morning.

Darkness had already fallen when she'd left the hospital, and it was fully cloaking the town by the time she pulled up in front of the townhouse. The low hanging clouds above kept even moon and starlight from cutting through the muddy-black night. The lights from House's place and the neighboring townhouses were friendly beacons though, and she got out of her car and took a deep breath of snow laden air. She knew that smell and rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. She would definitely be digging her car out.

She circled the front of the car to the passenger side and opened the back door, noticing that the grocery bags had managed to stay in reasonable order. There was only one can of cream of mushroom soup (House's secret ingredient for many a recipe) rolling around on the floor, and the six-pack of Sam Adams was only partially crushing the tomatoes. Leaning inside, she gathered the wayward items, and started looping her arms through the plastic handles.

_"Don't turn around, bitch!"  
_  
In the span of one breath, Cameron felt her heart start to race. She dropped everything and spun around to face the empty sidewalk. She'd known that there wasn't anyone there. There hadn't been a sound other than the slight wind rattling the branches high overhead. No footsteps. No cars. Even now, there was no one driving down the street. All of those things were pretty facts to know, but they didn't stop the insistent panic from flooding her bloodstream with adrenalin and forcing her to bolt from the car and up the steps to the front door.

She dropped her own keys, fumbled around in her pocket for the key to the townhouse, and dropped that too. She was pounding on the door with her open hand while she scooped them up again and finally joined key and lock, shoving the door open so hard it slammed into the side wall. House was standing half-way across the room, obviously on his way to answer the door. He looked annoyed, but when he saw the paleness of Cameron's skin and the terrified look in her eye, that expression gave way to concern.

"What's wrong? Where are the groceries?"

Cameron felt like a stupid child, standing in the warmly lit living room, perfectly safe. Perfectly stupid.

"I… they're still in the car." When he quirked one eyebrow up in question, she had to explain. "I heard a noise."

He immediately turned from her and pounded over to the windows. "What kind of noise? Was someone out there?" he asked, sounding as if he'd go out and beat them to death with his cane.

"There wasn't anyone there," she replied. "It was just me. I was just hearing things." Hearing ghost sounds and words from the past that she wasn't going to repeat to House now. "I need to go get the bags. Maybe if you could just stand at the door?"

God, she sounded like a complete basket case. She hadn't had a panic attack in months. Her nightmares were usually soothed away before she even woke from them. She'd been very good about keeping any residual fear to herself. It wasn't something she wanted House to think defined her.

House's soft step-thump gait brought him back in front of Cameron.

"Been a while, eh?" he said, reading the look on her face. She was ashamed and he hated seeing that. Only one person deserved shame for the thoughts that haunted her.

"I'd better get those bags," she said, ignoring his question. Her hands weren't shaking anymore and she took deep breaths as she passed through the doorway and back down the steps.

"Damn Tivo screwed up recording General Hospital," House said, leaning casually against the door frame. "Now we'll be completely lost."

Another deep breath, and Cameron smiled slightly as she started grabbing the bags from the car. "Yeah," she replied, "you'd better search online for a recap."

"Oh, good call," House snapped his fingers at her brilliant idea.

He took a step back as she approached with the first load of bags, and although he had no intention of moving, Cameron still spoke, saying:

"I'll take them into the kitchen. You don't have to move," as she headed to the car for the next load.

"Nope, wasn't intending to," he said, although he often did handle getting things out of the entry way while she finished getting stuff from the car.

After a loud slam of the back door, and a final, cautious look around, Cameron toted the last bags up the steps. House took them from her hands and let her pass into the townhouse before following after her and clicking the lock on the knob and the deadbolt as well. Cameron was picking up the other bags and watched him throw the locks, feeling the last bit of irrational fear leaving her body.

"You can go take a load off," House said, after the groceries had been put away. "I'm just making something easy."

"I'll stay and keep you company." Cameron seated herself at the small table and it was fairly obvious who wanted the company.

House frowned and turned to the fridge, grabbing out boneless chicken breasts and minced garlic. "You didn't answer my question before," he said just a little gruffly because it was a subject he was uncomfortable with himself.

Cameron busied herself going through his junk mail. "Yeah," she said as she ripped up a credit card offer. "It's been a while."

"The visit home probably triggered it." He was grasping at what he hoped were helpful straws. "Must have been expecting them to ask more about it."

"Probably." She leafed through a flyer and pulled out a few coupons.

House cut up the chicken, the dull sound of the knife against the cutting board a counterpoint to Cameron's rustling of papers. The garlic was sizzling in the bottom of his large frying pan and he added the meat and turned around, waiting for Cameron to look up and meet his gaze. She kept her head down and eventually he turned back to the stove.

She was glad when he stopped staring at her. A minute longer and she knew she would have started babbling on and that wasn't what she wanted. He didn't need to know that she still thought of the attack almost every day. The thoughts weren't accompanied by panic the way they had been tonight. Usually it was just a quick second of remembering: the sight of her scar in the shower, a newspaper article about a crime in the area, a similar name or person, not just her attacker but anyone involved in the case. The policemen, the attorneys, her nurse from cardiology. It was almost impossible to go through a day without seeing something that reminded her.

She wondered sometimes if she'd think about it even if she was on an island away from everything familiar, and she thought she probably would. It wasn't something that ever went away, it just became less intrusive. A few seconds out of her day. A few minutes here and there. And a panic attack just when she'd least expected one. That was her life now, and if it wasn't perfect, it was still better than it had been before the attack. Before, she had been alone. Now, sitting in a kitchen filled with the scent of garlic and onion and chicken, she was content, and not alone at all.

* * *

They ate dinner in the kitchen instead of out in front of the television, and Cameron kept up a fairly steady stream of conversation about fairly inconsequential things: the snowstorm, a new movie that was coming out in a few days, the latest amusing story from the clinic. House grunted or responded depending on his level of interest and the amount of food in his mouth. 

Afterwards, he left her to take care of the dishes, and retreated to the living room with a glass of scotch. He was sitting at the piano when Cameron wandered in and grabbed her laptop bag from beside the door. He'd been holding his glass with one hand, and tapping out random notes with the other, but as Cameron settled in, he put his drink on a stack of books and started playing in earnest.

Every once in a while, he'd toss a question about their patient her way, and she'd glance up from the article she was working on and reply. Outside the hospital walls, if their patient was stable, House was usually able to stop thinking about him until the urgent pages or phone calls started coming in, but occasionally his mind kept churning out possibilities long after the work day ended. Cameron was always happy to be his sounding board when that happened. Unlike during whiteboard sessions when he took joy in cutting everyone down, when he was mulling his own ideas aloud in his living room, she felt more partner than underling.

She had just finished explaining why she disagreed with the suggestion of a heart problem, and he gave a short nod and turned his attention to the piano keys for a few minutes. A snippet of a Beethoven sonata gave way to Bach, then an old Billy Joel song and finally, Chopin's Nocturne Op.9, No. 2. He'd played half a dozen bars before his fingers abruptly froze over the keys. Cameron looked up at him and saw that he was staring at her.

Sculpted eyebrows drew together over puzzled eyes. "What?"

House struck a few more notes of the song while maintaining eye contact.

"That song." He cleared his throat self-consciously, obviously uncomfortable. "That probably makes you think…"

Understanding lit her face and she shook her head. "I love that song," she assured him.

"You weren't exactly at your best the first time you heard me play it," he wasn't arguing, just explaining his thoughts.

She remembered. Could picture herself lying in her room, petrified after hearing a garbage can pushed over out in the parking lot. The memory of the phone, pressed against her ear, was nearly a physical sensation. Her hair brushed across her shoulders as she shook her head again.

"What I remember most when I hear that song is how safe it made me feel."

House puffed out a scoffing breath and shrugged his eyebrows. "Yeah, it's oozing with protective vibes."

"Got me to sleep, didn't it?"

"You were high on Demerol. It was just a matter of time before you passed out."

"Then how come it still soothes me to sleep?"

"I'd guess Pavlovian response."

Cameron gave an exasperated sigh and stood up, walking to the piano and sitting down beside him on the bench.

"Pavlov's got nothing to do with it," she said, nudging him with her shoulder.

House ran through a few scales before starting an old Glen Miller standard. "The song doesn't bother you, but groceries do. What else?" He didn't want to talk about this, but it was all he'd thought about while they'd been eating. Pushing was what he did, and even when he tried to restrain himself he couldn't stop for long.

"I don't want to talk about this."

He didn't say anything, but his expression of displeasure spoke for itself.

"You don't do anything that makes me think about it," she said, hoping that would satisfy him.

His eyes, when he looked at her again were soft and he started playing Chopin. He played it all the way through and she smiled at him and squeezed his knee before going back to her place on the sofa.

A few more songs, and then House picked up the television remote and started surfing through the channels, stopping on an old Hitchcock movie. Cameron shut down her computer, seeing that she wouldn't be getting any more work done, and went to make popcorn. Two hours later, Cary Grant was pulling Eva Marie Saint up into the top bunk of their sleeper compartment on a north-bound train, and House and Cameron headed for bed.

House looked out the window while Cameron was brushing her teeth. A heavy snow was softly falling, coating the street, cars and everything else. Good thing his car was in the garage. He popped open his bottle of Vicodin and swallowed one before putting the pills on the nightstand and tugging the comforter and sheets down.

When Cameron joined him in the bed, she expected him to say a quick, semi-gruff goodnight, and roll over. She shut off the light, curled onto her side and waited, finally saying:

"Sleep well."

He answered with, "So have you thought about talking to someone?"

Her eyes, which had partially closed, snapped open and she stared at his form in the darkness. "You don't give up."

"Be grateful I don't sic Wilson on you. He's still trying to get me to go to physical therapy."

"I don't need therapy," she said firmly.

House didn't say anything, but his loud breathing indicated that he wasn't falling asleep. Cameron's eyes adjusted and she could see him more clearly, his face mobile as it contorted along with his thoughts. He always did that when he was searching for words; something that only seemed to happen when he was talking to her about personal things.

"I wouldn't care," he said, words gruff and clipped. "If that's what you're worried about." The words were vague but she knew what he was trying to say. He wouldn't think less of her. He would still support her. He wouldn't think she was as damaged as she sometimes felt.

Her warm hand on his bicep made him turn his head and they could see each other's eyes clearly.

"I know you wouldn't," she told him. "But thank you for telling me." She lightly fingered the edge of his shirtsleeve. "I'm okay. Really. Don't worry about me."

"I hadn't planned to," he said, a small bit of sarcasm returning, "but apparently it's part of this damn feeling you've infected me with."

She smiled, just with her eyes and moved her hand over soft cotton to the center of his chest.

"Yeah. This love thing really sucks," she said, a little shocked at using the word so casually.

"You said it, not me," he replied, and ducked his head quickly to kiss her full on the lips before rolling over and closing his eyes.

Cameron was left to blink a few times in surprise and then she grinned and let sleep claim her as well.


	15. Chapter 14

Hello all… sorry for the long delay. I was hospitalized over the weekend and am just getting back to myself a bit and able to finish off the end of this chapter. I won't bore you with details, but the short version is that I have some enormous fibroid cysts in my uterus that are pressing on my right kidney and it was causing pain that even repeated IV injections of morphine couldn't control. Took a couple of days to get it managed and I will most likely need injections to shrink the tumors, followed by surgery… hopefully not a hysterectomy as boyfriend and I want children. Apparently I don't have enough health issues… Anyway, it's been a rough week!

This chapter marks a change in focus for the story… it can't all be gentle snark and cuddles, after all. There are still some things they need to deal with, and that's what a relationship is all about. Do tell me if anything seems "off", especially in the last bit as I'm on some pretty serious painkillers. I do have to say that being able to concentrate on writing this has been a big help in getting my mind off other things, so thanks to all of you for your support J

**Chapter 14**

David Flynn had led a remarkably healthy life. He was twenty-nine years old, married, with one son and a daughter on the way. He'd graduated from the University of Massachusetts and moved to New Jersey to be closer to his parents, who were both still alive and also quite healthy. His wife, Karen, was the only one who'd had a serious illness, having recovered from a battle with leukemia as a young child, but with twenty plus years cancer free, even she was in good health.

These were all details which House did not care about. All he cared about was the fact that patient D. Flynn had been brought in suffering from fatigue, ataxia, blurred vision and impaired coordination. Since he had fallen from a ladder just a day earlier, House first tried to wave him away, citing a probable concussion and possible brain damage. Boring. The fact that he had no bumps on his head made him rethink that diagnosis and take interest in his case.

Cameron, of course, knew all of the details of David Flynn's life. Both the ones listed in his chart and the ones that were only catalogued in her head. She was thinking about all of them as the team sat around the conference room table debating probable disorders.

"Gotta be neurological," Foreman said.

"How clever, coming from the brain guy," House said, but he wrote it up on the board.

"Tumor?" Chase suggested.

"Vague, and not very upbeat." House wrote it down anyway while Chase rolled his eyes.

"MS?" was Cameron's contribution.

"That's another cheerful one." It was penned in black beneath the word 'tumor.'

"Huntington's, Guillain-Barre Syndrome, Encephalitis, ALS," Foreman rattled off a list of possibilities, and was met with facial expressions which indicated various degrees of agreement from House.

They were all duly noted, however. House tapped his cane a few times and twirled the white board marker in his fingers.

"We'll get the easy ones out of the way first. CAT scan for possible tumor, get a spinal tap for MS and Encephalitis, and start him on Interferon. See if that does anything." He turned and started towards his office. "And Cameron, weasel some more information outta him and see if he's had any similar symptoms in the past."

"So, I guess he's leaning towards MS," Foreman said after House and Chase had left. The Interferon was a treatment for it and if there had been other instances of similar symptoms, they could be taken as a first attack.

"What do you think?" Cameron asked. She liked to be right, but neurology wasn't her specialty and she could admit that.

"I'd have said MS too, if you hadn't beaten me to it," he replied with a wry grin that said he wasn't actually annoyed.

Cameron had a pleased smile on her face as the two of them made their way down to the patient's room to perform the spinal tap and start the medication. That smile didn't last long when the patient started going into respiratory distress shortly after the needle was withdrawn. It was necessary to intubate, and start him on a vent, something which had his wife in tears which Cameron tried to alleviate with comforting words.

An hour later and the CSF was inconclusive, and the CAT scan had shown nothing. The breathing problems seemed to be due to an infection, and Chase was adamant that it had to be some sort of cancer, while Cameron still argued that MS was possible, with the infection being an unrelated problem, or an anomaly in the disease's usual progression. Foreman was on the fence, but leaning towards MS, and House ordered an MRI to look for lesions and a full neurological examination and blood work-up. His seemingly easy case had taken a nasty turn.

By mid-afternoon it had turned nastier, with more symptoms without answers, more medications given to counter them, and still the only reasonable diagnoses, either an incredibly rapidly progressing case of MS, or a cancer they had yet to diagnose and little chance of curing if it continued on its destructive path.

House was used to such circumstances and he generally ignored the frenetic rush and puzzled things out in between goading Cuddy, watching television and racking up high scores on his Gameboy. He wasn't sure if it was the beseeching wife, the precocious son or the fact that he himself had been sure it was MS, that had him so aggravated this time. With blinds covering the walls and doors, he holed up in his office and fluctuated between staring out the window and leafing through a stack of books.

He heard the soft knock on the door leading from the conference room, but ignored it. Of course that rarely worked nowadays, and within thirty seconds, the door was opening and Cameron was slipping inside and leaning back against it. The blinds rattled and shook as she pressed against them and she took a step forward.

"We're doing everything possible. All we can do is wait," Cameron said, in an attempt to draw him from his brow-creasing thoughts.

"Yeah, I've heard this speech before. Remember? With the nun? Seem to remember telling you then that you don't have to reassure me about the fact that I know my job," House snapped.

She drew in a breath and crossed her arms. "I was just trying--"

"To be nice. Right. See, we really have played this scene before. You can go be glass-half-full somewhere else."

Standing her ground, Cameron stared at him, matching his piercing gaze with a softer one of her own. "I thought a few things had happened in the year since that patient."

He was the first to break away, swiveling in his chair and concentrating on the snow outside instead of her pale features.

"I still don't need a pep squad. Go on. Make yourself useful and take my clinic hours if you're that desperate to be nice."

He did everything but wave his hand dismissively, and Cameron finally gave up. Many of their interactions had changed during the time they'd been together, but this was obviously one that hadn't. Where she naturally became more emotional during stressful times, he walled himself up, and trying to get through that wall would definitely cross the personal and professional line that they'd drawn in the sand.

"I'll check the labs and head down to the clinic," she told him, unclenching her arms as she accepted defeat.

"Fine," he replied distractedly, and he didn't move a muscle as her footsteps signaled her departure.

* * *

At five thirty-nine, David Flynn suffered a stroke. It left him effectively brain-dead, and at five fifty-one, David's wife held his hand as all the machines attached to him were shut down, one by one. Cameron was the one in the room to note the time of death. Five fifty-six. She left the new widow alone with her grief and took slow, weary steps to the diagnostics department.

Foreman had been just outside the room when David Flynn's life support had been disconnected, but he'd left before the final heart beat. He'd always thought that death should be a private moment, but he was ashamed that his real reason for leaving was that he knew Cameron would be better at providing comfort, despite the fact that he also knew that a situation like this had to be particularly hard on her. He looked up from the sheaf of test results as she walked into the conference room.

"It was peaceful," she said, although such words were unnecessary. Foreman knew what death looked like when met in such a way.

"His wife?"

Cameron sat down and folded her hands on the table, clenching and unclenching them in some unknowable pattern.

"She's devastated. What did you expect?" she said words tripping out harsher than she'd intended. "Sorry," she apologized an instant later and shook her head, concentrating on her fine-boned hands, dry and irritated from being in latex most of the day.

"No, it was a dumb question," he replied.

"Chase gone?"

"Yeah, he was packing up when I got up here and I passed House in the elevator. I thought maybe he was going down to check on you."

She shook her head again. "No, he wouldn't do that. He must have headed home."

"That what you're gonna do?" His dark, concerned eyes found hers and held. "We could go out and grab a couple drinks first. Cases like this make you want to forget."

"Thanks for the offer, but no. I think I'd rather just take a nice long bath."

Foreman didn't ask whose tub she'd be having it in.

"We can't beat ourselves up," he said, attempting to be rational. "We can't cure everyone."

"I know that," she told him, "I'm not that naïve."

Foreman winced a little inside, remembering that he was talking to the woman who, whatever her issues with giving bad news, had suffered more of it than she deserved. He thought that apologizing would just sound patronizing and decided to change the subject.

"You sure about that drink?" He kept his voice carefully non-condescending.

A wan little smile touched her lips but not her eyes. "Yes. I really do want that bath," she said as she stood up and started moving towards her desk to get her things.

"Okay, but if you want to talk…" He mimed picking up the phone and she nodded her head.

"I'll keep it in mind," she said, shrugging into her coat while she walked to the door. She pushed it open and walked through, leaving the paperwork to someone else for a change.

* * *

The drive from the hospital was especially slow as she debated where to go. Her initial desire was to go to the townhouse, but she wasn't sure if House would want her around. The problem was that she really didn't want to be alone. In the end, she talked herself into driving to his tree-lined street, with the reasoning that their relationship outside of the hospital was different than inside, and he'd made no secret of the fact that he liked having her around his place.

She pulled up in front of the townhouse and saw that there weren't any lights on inside. Her stomach tightened and she got out of the car and avoided the now-dirty snow bank, a souvenir from the storm on Monday. She'd worn sturdy, sensible shoes because of the weather, and their chunky heels ground against the salt on the sidewalk. A streetlight, nestled next to a sheltering tree, sent enough pale light to guide her to the door. She had her fingers wrapped around House's key deep within her coat pocket, and she drew it out and let herself in.

An involuntary shiver ran up her spine at the cold and dark that met her. She'd beaten him there before, but had never felt such trepidation. Turning on lights and heat helped, but not as much as if he'd walked through the door and placed one of his sneak-attack kisses on her cheek and grumbled about what he was going to make for dinner.

A long soak in the tub was what she'd told Foreman that she wanted, but with House still not home, her priorities shifted and she hung up her coat and wandered into the kitchen. She'd make something simple for dinner and when he arrived, they'd eat and watch television and ignore the day behind them.

That was the fantasy, and she knew it wouldn't happen that way. She'd learned early on that things rarely worked out according to plan. Still, they had to eat, and a quick stir-fry seemed easiest, so she went through the motions of preparing it and tried not to notice as the clock ticked past seven. She finally ate by herself an hour later while watching repeats of Seinfeld, and then spent half an hour considering leaving. She still hadn't made up her mind when she heard the key in the lock and craned her head around to see House walk through the door.

He paused in the doorway, noticing her presence as if unsure what to do about it. Turning towards the coat rack allowed him to avoid saying anything.

"I made dinner," Cameron offered, feeling a tension between them that seemed unnatural after how close they had become. "It's cold now, but I put some on a plate for you. It's waiting in the microwave.

A slight grunt that might have been, "Oh, thanks," came from House's direction and he walked to the kitchen.

Within a few minutes, Cameron heard the whirring of the microwave fan and then the beeping that signaled it was done. House limped into the room carrying his plate and sat in the easy chair. Cameron didn't think the sofa had ever felt so big.

"I was surprised when you weren't here," she said, not to pry, but just to get him to open up the tiniest bit and remember what they were to each other.

"Yeah," he mumbled around a forkful of rice and chicken. "Wilson wanted to go out for a few drinks. Julie troubles. You know." He rolled his eyes in that look that said it was the same-old, same old.

"Wilson called looking for you an hour ago."

His rapid chewing slowed to a halt and he swallowed while twisting his mouth into various contorted positions. "Wilson always was a busybody. Figures he'd blow my cover."

"He just wanted to know if you're still on for the hockey game tomorrow."

Hockey was the one sport Cameron refused to watch, so the two men had planned to have a drunken night out together. From the reddened look in House's eyes, and the smell of smoke that clung to him, she could tell that the drinking had already started.

"I'll call him later." He shoved another piece of chicken in his mouth to forestall anymore talking.

Cameron tucked her legs underneath herself and had her arms around her stomach. "You don't have to sneak around. You're allowed to go out if you want."

"Thanks for the permission, Mom." House was snide in his reply and he grabbed the remote, changing the channel to ESPN.

There were so many things Cameron wanted to say, but the words were jumbled in her mind, and she wasn't sure of what she should do. They'd lost a patient. House was always particularly nasty after that, but usually not at home. Not to her. This one was different because they hadn't even properly diagnosed him before his death. She realized that was what was making him more bitter and morose, but they weren't in the hospital anymore. She wanted him to be able to make a tiny hole in his walls and let her in. They both felt badly, but there was no reason why they had to suffer in silence and solitude when they were right in the same room. She wanted to give him more, and she wanted him to accept it. She needed more for herself.

With that determination came a flash of bravery, and she uncurled herself and moved to his chair, perching on the wide armrest.

"I know you're upset about today, but you don't--"

She was stopped in mid-sentence when he turned to her, hard-eyed. "Don't have to what? Feel bad? I don't. We fucked up. I'm pissed about it. I'm not sad and weepy. I'm not wondering what the poor widow and kids are gonna do. I'm not feeling guilty. But then again, I'm not the one who had us wasting a bunch of time chasing after a diagnosis of MS.

Cameron felt the breath leave her lungs as surely as if he had just punched her in the stomach and she reeled back, nearly losing her balance.

"What?" It was half-way to a shout, completely incredulous.

"You heard me," he said, turning his attention to the television.

She stood up and blocked his view. "You agreed with me! Foreman agreed too! That diagnosis isn't why he died. For all we know he did have MS, and it was something else that killed him. Something else we couldn't decipher in time."

The look in her eyes was anger, swirled with pain, and even as the words hit his ears, House knew that she was right and he was wrong, but at the moment, he didn't care. He hadn't asked her to come tonight. She should have known what his mood would be. She should have known to just let him be. He stared at her, saying nothing, and watched as the fire slowly left her eyes and she stepped away.

He heard her moving around behind him, and then the rustling of fabric, and the clink of keys. With as little movement as possible, he turned his head.

"You're leaving." Not a question, a statement.

Her lips were pressed together, but she didn't look angry anymore. She didn't have the energy to be angry. She knew that this was how he was, but it was something she'd thought had been tempered at least slightly by her presence. Apparently that wasn't always the case. His words had hurt, but she knew that he didn't really mean them. He needed to lash out and she was convenient. But she'd had a long, exhausting day too, and she just didn't have the energy to be his emotional punching bag. She'd been hoping for comfort, and if she couldn't get it from him, she didn't want to stay there hoping for it and resenting him when it didn't come. They'd work things out; she had faith in that, but not tonight.

"You obviously want to be alone," she told him, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I can accept that."

She waited for him to say something, but he didn't and she plucked her pocketbook from its hook and let herself out. House was left staring at the door, which he did until he heard her car start up and drive off. He'd wanted to be alone; she was right. But now the room seemed much colder than it had in months.

* * *

The streetlights glared harshly off of Cameron's sand- and salt-encrusted windshield as the slush was thrown up by the cars ahead of her. She'd slid on her gloves, and her fingers were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles stretching the black leather. Even though she knew all the best shortcuts, she wasn't in the mood to navigate side streets and instead took the main roads; a trip which was at least ten minutes longer.

Her apartment was dark, of course, and when she pulled into the parking lot she stared up at her living room window without turning off the engine. She didn't want to go up there and sit around wondering if House was going to call her to apologize or, more likely, just tell her to come back to his place. She was stronger than that, and she also didn't expect him to call. He needed space and she could give him that. However, she didn't want to be alone, and she could take care of that too.

Sliding her cell phone from her pocket, she flipped it open and thumbed through the phonebook, hitting one of the speed-dial numbers.

"Hi. Yeah, remember those drinks? I decided the tub could wait."

Fifteen minutes later and she was pulling up in front of a bar and grill a few blocks from the hospital. It was where the team, minus House, of course, usually went when they were either celebrating or commiserating. She saw that Foreman's car was already there and when she approached the door, he was waiting just inside and held it open for her.

"Thanks for meeting me. Wasn't sure you'd still be up for it," she said as they found an unoccupied booth.

"Who, me? Always up for a few beers. I was about to call Chase and drag him out, so I was glad you called instead." He studied her strained features and his eyebrows lowered. "Looks like this really wasn't your first choice though."

"Eh, plans change," she said before turning to the waitress and ordering a drink. Foreman chimed in after her and then turned to face her again.

"Yeah, but that doesn't usually make your eye do that little twitching thing."

Cameron instantly raised her hand to her left eye, touching it self-consciously.

"I was kidding," Foreman said, dryly. "But you just proved that you're more upset than you're saying."

Cameron rolled her eyes at having fallen for such an obvious con.

"I'm not upset," she told him, sternly. "I expected one thing and got something else. I'm fine with it. That's how life goes. Tomorrow things will go right back to normal."

"I know we're dancing around the obvious, but I assume you're talking about House, right? Lemme guess. He was an asshole to you."

Cameron glared at him, but then softened. She knew that he just wanted to help her and in a way, it was very sweet and not something she got very often.

"We needed different things tonight. That's all," she said with a shrug.

The waitress returned with their beers, and each of them took a few long swallows before continuing the conversation.

"He's always been a bastard, and I don't see that changing much. I hope that's not what you were expecting," Foreman said protectively.

There were several dozen stories Cameron could have told to illustrate just how much House had changed since the beginning of their relationship. Those things were private, though, and she didn't really want to share them. She groped around for some words that would suffice.

"I don't expect or want him to change who he is," she said, peeling at the label on her beer bottle, "but you'd be surprised to know that he's not quite such a bastard outside the hospital. Until tonight, we did a good job of keeping work separate from everything else."

"House, forget about work?" Foreman laughed. "Yeah, right."

"I didn't say he forgot about it," Cameron returned, with an exasperated smile. "But the attitude's different at home."

Foreman chose not to mention her use of the word 'home,' and instead tilted his head and shrugged. "Tough case. Makes the man cranky, I guess. Don't take it personally."

He couldn't believe that he was actually giving relationship advice, but he'd seen how happy Cameron had been over the past months, and despite his words, he'd seen some changes in House too. Their relationship was no doubt screwed up, but it seemed to work for them.

Cameron took another drink and ran her finger around the rim of the bottle. "I'm not," she said, in a voice that attempted to be sunny. "We needed different things tonight," she repeated. "That's why I'm here and he's not."

It was sound, if simplistic, logic, and Foreman nodded although he was wondering if a few well-placed words to House would constitute pushing his luck. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you called." He clinked his bottle to hers. "Don't hesitate to do it again if you need to."

"I won't," she replied, and gave him her first genuine smile of the night.

* * *

Foreman and Cameron ended up ordering more drinks, food, and even more drinks. Foreman ended up dropping her off at home, because with her smaller frame, she was considerably more incapacitated than he, although she still wasn't quite drunk. Nevertheless, her legs felt like heavy, wet noodles as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. A glance at her DVD player showed that it was after midnight, and a glance at her answering machine showed that no one had called. She tossed her coat over the back of the sofa, kicked her shoes off and padded down to her bedroom.

She hadn't expected him to call. She reminded herself of that as she climbed into her cold bed and rolled over in an attempt at sleep. Expectations and hopes were apparently two very different things. One thing she was relatively sure of was that House probably wouldn't sleep well either. The great divide between work and home had been crossed, and now they needed to deal with it.


	16. Chapter 15

Quite a lot going on in this chapter, and not all of it good, but you'll have to trust that I do know where I'm going here! Your comments are always welcome and read with a huge grin on my face :)

**Chapter 15**

Cameron walked into the hospital later than usual for her, but it was unavoidable. Because Foreman had driven her home, he had to pick her up and then drop her at the bar to pick up her car. He usually wasn't late to work, but he rarely arrived on her schedule either. She hadn't slept very well, which was contributing to her already unsettled mood. She didn't even bother to try to convince herself that those were the only reasons she wasn't feeling much like herself.

She'd had a good time with Foreman, and she was glad that she'd ended up going out with him. They hadn't been able to get together as much lately, and she realized that she'd missed that. Being happy about that didn't make her any less troubled about what had led her to call him. She wondered how House would act; if he would be cold and distant because she'd left, or if he'd pretend like it had never happened and just go on with life as usual. A large part of her hoped for the latter and wished that they could just forget the previous day, but that wouldn't be healthy for them or their relationship, and she knew that.

A stop at the clinic was part of her daily routine, to see if the schedules had been changed. She wasn't supposed to be covering any shifts but sometimes people, particularly House, called in sick. Nope, no change, and when she double checked, she knew she was just stalling.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm glad I caught you." Cuddy had just walked out of her office and called out as Cameron was about to go towards the elevators.

"Something wrong?" Cameron asked. She was still not a very good judge of Cuddy's expressions, and the one she was currently wearing was serious.

"No, not wrong. Just something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?"

It was still twenty minutes to nine, and with no new patients, she knew the department would be slow.

"Of course," she replied, and followed the older woman into her office.

* * *

House was looking and feeling particularly scruffy, and he didn't care who noticed. He hadn't slept well and had ended up driving to the office early with the intention of cornering Cameron, making a half-assed non-apologetic remark and getting things back to normal between them. Now she wasn't in yet and there weren't any patients to occupy his mind.

Foreman had made the coffee, but it tasted like swill. He'd also been circumspect when asked about Cameron, and House was currently staring at him through the wall that separated his office from the conference room. He was trying to decide what the hell Foreman knew, and what he'd have to do to get the information out of him.

He was just about to go in and start playing twenty questions with him, when the object of his speculation walked by his office door. She didn't glance inside, but that wasn't totally unexpected since looking for him before nine-thirty was usually a futile endeavor. He kept his gaze on her as she walked into the conference room, said something to Foreman while she hung up her coat, and moved towards her desk. She spotted him out of the corner of her eye when she was about four steps away from it. Their eyes met and held for a few long seconds before she altered her course.

"Morning," he mumbled, thinking through several snide remarks about her tardiness and deciding not to use them.

"Good morning," she replied, taking an additional step forward and glancing down at his still full coffee mug. "I guess I should really write step by step instructions," she said mildly.

"Or you could just get here on time and make it," he replied, then froze as he watched a hardened expression sweep across her face. Damn. Apparently not the time to be snide.

"Right," she said, coldly. "I could do that."

House decided to push on and ignore her irritation. "Sleep well? I didn't," he told her. It was akin to telling her that he'd missed her and normally even such a subtle bit of affection would make her happy.

She didn't exactly soften, but she did sigh and uncross her arms, saying, "I didn't sleep well either."

He nodded sharply wanting to consider the matter closed. He was just waiting for her to say something normal and sweet to get their day back on track. Nothing was coming from her lips though, and he started fidgeting with his red ball.

"Looks like it might be a slow day," he finally said. "Cuddy hasn't even come around to badger me into picking up clinic hours."

Cameron's mouth did an interesting pursing move before she tugged in part of her lower lip. He hadn't seen that in months.

"What?" He was harsher than he meant to be and wasn't surprised when she crossed her arms again.

"Actually, I spoke to Cuddy this morning," she said, and House's eyebrows drew together at the sudden strength behind her voice.

"Oh? She trying to get you to do her dirty work?"

"No. She wants me to switch departments."

In House's mind, the felt-covered ball seemed to pause in mid-arch as Cameron's words reached his ears. Once they had registered, its motion sped up again and he caught and clutched it in his strong right hand.

"What's she think she's punishing me for this time?" he said sarcastically.

Sarcasm was always the best cover when he was surprised and nearly speechless. It was a bad tone to take with Cameron on this particular morning, and her arms uncrossed just so that she could plant her hands on her hips.

"Everything isn't just about you." She had planned to be gentle, easing him into the idea, and now that was all shot to hell. "She happens to think I'm a good doctor. Dr. Chen has decided to leave the hospital and go into private practice, and Dr. Kingsly is taking over as head of Immunology and they need another doctor up there."

"Well, I need another doctor down here," House said, pounding the ball down on the center of his desk and wrenching himself to his feet. He didn't like her having the height advantage for this conversation. "This is about our fight last night. You're still pissed off. First you walk out of the house and now you're walking out of here." He wasn't shouting, but the words were bitten off and hard-sounding.

"Yeah, Cuddy was spying on us and just waiting for us to fight so that she could lure me away," Cameron said, employing some sarcasm of her own. House just glared at her and she shook her head, brown hair swaying around her shoulders. "I know the timing seems bad, and the two things really have nothing to do with each other, but I'm not going to lie. I think that not working together would probably be best for us."

"Because you can't handle when you screw up?"

She felt a flush rise to her cheeks at lightening speed. "No! Because whether I screw up or _you_ screw up, we shouldn't carry it home." She started pacing in front of his desk, her quick footsteps loud against the floor. "You should be happy for me. Proud even! This is a big position for me, and first you make it all a conspiracy to annoy you and then you act like I would take it just to spite you or something." She stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "I was nervous to come to you about this, but I thought that after the news sunk in, you'd be supportive. I know you care about me. I know that. But right now I'm not sure _why _I know that."

Her little speech ended with her slapping her palms down on the top of his desk and staring into his eyes, searching for some kind of assurance. It was a moment where House should have said something, and he was fully aware of that, but there were no words, only a void where they should have been. He could see the need in her eyes along with the fire, and he could count each pulse of her blood in the vein that traveled up the side of her neck. She finally blinked and pushed off and away, sweeping one hand through her hair.

"You can page me if a patient comes in," she said as she turned away from him.

He let her get as far as the door before calling out her name. "Cameron," in that authoritative voice he always used in the office, but this time laced with what sounded like pleading.

She shook her head and wouldn't turn back. "We'll talk later," she told him. "I think we both need some time."

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy was usually glad to hear House's uneven gait meandering through the clinic. It meant that he was either actually working or in a perfect position to be roped into working. Today that sound was one she'd been hoping to avoid, especially when it was accompanied by a biting comment to one of the nurses and an insult to her secretary. Her door was open and she was completely unsurprised when he simply marched right in without announcing himself.

"So now you're playing Vogler? Trying to screw with me by splitting up my team?" He stopped in front of her desk and rapped his cane hard against the front of it.

"House, you know it isn't like that at all."

"Oh really? Is that why you didn't clear it with me first? Give me a heads up? An opportunity to tell you 'not a chance in hell?'"

He slammed his cane against her desk again to punctuate his remarks.

Cuddy let out a long breath and tried to put on her most understanding face. Because she did understand House's anger.

"Honestly?" she said, folding perfectly manicured nails and resting her hands on her day planner, "I thought it would be better coming from Cameron."

Her hope of making this an easy transition was quickly fading.

"Better for an employee to tell her boss about a shift in personnel. Ah, yes, I can see where that might have slipped into the handbook of hospital management," House said with sarcasm rolling from his tongue. "I guess you also forgot that Cameron is under contract for another two years."

"I think we've seen that contracts can be broken."

"What!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise. "But contractual obligations are important. Note the fact that I'm chained to the clinic as exhibit A of how much you yourself care about them."

"House, this is a good move for her," Cuddy said, trying to appeal to his reasonable side. "It's a great position, and it's right here in the hospital. You'll still be able to get consults from her when you need them, and we can start interviews for her replacement as soon as next week."

His eyes grew wider. "Are you telling me she already accepted the position?"

"No. No, she didn't." Her shaking head accompanied her words. "She said she needed to think about it." She met his pointed look with one of her own. "And she said she needed to talk to you about it." She ended on that particular note to make House see that Cameron had always had him at the front of her mind.

His mouth twisted from an angry scowl to an aggravated grimace.

"Right. That talk is why I'm here."

"I have a feeling that talk consisted of you berating her, her calling you on it, and one or the other of you walking out."

The irritable cane tapping began.

"House, listen to me. If this spot hadn't opened up, I might have been able to buy you two--maybe six--more months in the same department. Tops."

His blue eyes snapped to hers, showing surprise and displeasure.

"Yeah, you two have been pretty subtle, but you know what hospitals are like. Simmering pools of gossip, politics and more gossip."

"So you're doing us a favor then," he said snidely, but some of the venom was missing.

Cuddy gave him her best in-charge look. "I don't do favors," she said. "Cameron's the perfect candidate for the job." She tapped her fingers lightly on her desk. "But this does also solve the inter-office romance issue, which is good for all of us." Her dark eyes were trying to pull some kind of reasonable response from him. "Trust me, House. It's better this way."

He snorted and pivoted around his cane.

"I'm not doing any interviews," he said, without even a glance back at her, as he stalked out the door and slammed it shut.

At her desk, Cuddy slumped back in her chair. Things had been peaceful for months, and now this. She almost wished she'd waited the extra six months, but Cameron would have found out about the position and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that the younger doctor would have pursued it. Immunology was her chosen field and this was a prime opportunity. Reaching for her coffee, Cuddy shook her head. Despite all that, she didn't envy Cameron at the moment. A rampaging and bitter House was not easy to deal with, as she knew all too well.

Up in the Diagnostics department, Cameron was making coffee. Foreman sat at the conference table pretending to read the paper, but he had one eye on her the entire time. She took painstaking care to ensure the correct coffee-to-water ratio, pre-poured creamer into her mug and stood watching as the water dripped through to the coffee pot. When she finally sat down at the table, with full mug cradled in her hands, Foreman flipped his paper down and gave her a pointed look.

"Are you going to tell me what happened in there?" he asked, gesturing to House's office. "This the same fight from last night?"

"It wasn't a fight last night, exactly; and no, this wasn't the same," Cameron told him.

"Well, it was something," Foreman argued.

Cameron took a long drink of her coffee and set the mug down again.

"Dr. Cuddy offered me a position up in Immunology."

"Oh shit," Foreman said, without thinking, and then held up his hand as Cameron's eyes flashed and her mouth opened. "No, no, I didn't mean that. It sounds perfect for you. Congrats! But now I know why House was pissed."

"Right. Because he apparently doesn't think I'm qualified and would rather keep me here where he can control everything."

Foreman stared at her steadily for a moment before speaking. "Come on, Cam. You don't even believe what you just said. He respects you as a doctor, and as for control…well, he likes to control everything. That's not exactly a surprise."

Cameron propped her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead. "I know," she said. "But it's harder for me to be mad when I'm thinking clearly."

Foreman scoffed. "Pfft! You can still be mad. Just because you know he didn't mean it, doesn't make him less of an ass for saying stupid shit."

One side of her mouth twitched slightly, her lips still a firm line; the expression of someone forced to choose between two equally bad things.

"Strangely enough, having a reason to be mad at him doesn't make me feel any better," she said.

"You'll talk again, he'll yell and pout some more, you'll make up and life will go on as usual," Foreman said, tone rather bored sounding as if to emphasize how sure he was of the course of events and how little she had to worry about. "By the end of the day, he'll be calling you into his office in that arrogant voice of his, and that's when you'll know you've won."

Cameron looked doubtful, but she took another sip of coffee and decided to push it all out of her mind until forced to confront it.

As the day rolled on, and no patients were referred to the department, House kept his distance from both from it and Cameron. Chase spent the day down in the clinic while the other two members of House's team kept busy with research and articles they were working on. By the time five o'clock came, it was apparent that things weren't going to go quite as Foreman had envisioned. When he saw her grabbing her coat after a long afternoon at the computer, he stood up from his own work and approached her.

"You game for another night out?" he asked, thinking that at least it would keep her occupied.

"Thanks, but tonight I really am going to take that bath," she said as she tilted her head and smiled at him.

"Well, just so you know, if you decided to change your mind again, I'm fine with that."

Her hand came up and she gripped his arm. "I know, and I appreciate it."

She walked out and he was struck with déjà vu as he watched her leaving, just as he had the night before. He briefly thought about waiting around until House showed his face again. He'd left his coat in his office, so he was bound to come get it eventually. However, he reluctantly told himself that it wasn't really any of his business. Cameron was a grown woman, fully able of taking care of her own personal life. He could be her friend, but overstepping his bounds and actually interfering would only get him slapped down by two people.

It was ironic then, when he passed House in the hallway just between the elevator and the office. House was limping heavier than usual and had his eyes pinned to the floor instead of scanning for victims. He practically barreled into Foreman and gave only a grunt in lieu of any sort of apology.

"Good night to you too, House," Foreman muttered under his breath. He sincerely hoped that things got back to normal sooner rather than later.

House, meanwhile, was already at his office door and jerking it open, setting the blinds rattling in the otherwise quiet department. He went to his desk, pounding his cane against the floor with every step, dropped into his chair and pulled open his bottom desk drawer. Ah yes, the bottle was still there. He hadn't availed himself of it in a very long time, but be was about to put a substantial dent in it.

The coffee he'd poured for himself that morning was still sitting on his desk and he dumped it into his trashcan to swirl wetly around balls of crumpled paper, junk mail and shredded patient records before pooling at the bottom. The thought that the janitor wouldn't enjoy emptying a coffee-loaded can wasn't even a wisp of a thought in his mind. Unscrewing the top of the excellent Glenfidditch with deft fingertips, he then played with the cap in his hand, making it appear and disappear before dropping it unceremoniously into the trash. He didn't intend on needing it again. The bottle was already over half gone, and he'd have no problem finishing it off. He squinted his eyes and stared at the enticing liquid, trying to remember the last time he'd taken a drink in the office or the last time he'd been not-quite-drunk-but-close at home. It had been a long time. Well, he guessed he'd find out if he could still handle his liquor.

His cell phone started ringing a few minutes later and he checked the number. Wilson, not Cameron. The hockey game. Right. He turned off his phone and chucked it into the drawer that had previously held his scotch, then slammed it shut and leaned back to take another long drink.

The rising sun found him asleep and groaning in his lounge chair, empty bottle on the desk, empty mug discarded on the floor beneath his dangling right arm. Bleary eyes slowly opened as the screaming pain in his leg and the thumping pain in his head competed for attention. His memories of spending the night passed out in the office had not included quite so much pain. He groped in his pocket for the comforting bottle of pills and downed two of them as soon as he had the top pried off.

A brief look out the window revealed a sunny, pleasant panorama; a brand new day. Hoo-fucking-ray. He closed his eyes and waited for the drugs to infiltrate his system. While he sat there, he kept pulling random bits of esoteric knowledge into his mind. The steps for ancient mummification. The floor plans of the British Museum. The number of steps from his office to the cafeteria. Anything to keep his mind from thoughts that actually mattered. The booze had helped in the night, but sobriety wasn't doing him any favors in that regard.

Less than a week earlier, he'd been quietly seething at the fact that Cameron was still having flashbacks of her attack. He'd wanted to destroy the person who had hurt her, and had privately sworn that he would if ever given the chance. Now he'd reverted to his defensive and spiteful ways, but they failed to comfort him the way they always had in the past. The sound of her voice when she'd tried to comfort him was loud in his ear, as was the resigned tone that infused it as she'd left him to his own devices. He could see her face as she'd told him about the opening in Immunology, and then her expression after his biting comments.

The images rolled through his mind in an endless loop, forcing him to cling even more stubbornly to his bitter attitude to prevent himself from feeling painful remorse and limping off to find her and apologize. He repeated a mantra of 'she should have known better than to try fixing me,' and 'I should have known better than to think she'd stick around,' despite the deeper places in his mind that were trying to force him to face the truth. She hadn't been trying to fix him, she'd been trying for some form of mutual solace, and she was probably one of the only people he could depend on to stay with him.

Eventually the pain receded enough that he felt capable of mobility, and he dragged himself to his feet and shuffled towards the door. He needed a shower and about three cups of coffee, and the hospital locker room could provide at least one of those.

He didn't have a complete change of clothing, but he had a spare t-shirt and boxers and he trusted no one would mention the fact that he was wearing the same battered jeans and slightly odiferous oxford. Particularly if he glared at everyone, which was how he planned to spend his day. He allowed the hot water to soothe the pain in his leg before he turned it to cold and stuck just his head beneath the spray. The pounding lowered to that of a tom-tom rather than a bass drum. He wasn't feeling quite human, but a few evolutionary steps closer when he headed towards the clinic.

Actually caring for patients wasn't his goal, but there was an empty clinic room with his name on it, and he intended to have a long nap, followed by a few hours of Gameboy play. It was just past eight o'clock, and he expected the place to be fairly empty since it didn't officially open until nine. He expected a couple of nurses and maybe an overeager intern.

He didn't expect Cameron.

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since he'd last seen her, but he swore he could spot differences in the pallor of her skin and the way she was holding herself. She looked tired as she leaned against the nurses' station counter and flipped through the daily schedule.

Turning and walking away were what his muscles prepared to do, but then his hand tightened around his cane and he started walking towards her instead of away. The tendon in his jaw was getting sore from the way he kept working it, and he thought that his eyes probably had a strange look in them which he attempted to blink away. Consequently, his eyes were at half-mast when Cameron turned around and saw him.

She straightened her shoulders and walked across the lobby, hands thrust into her pockets, fighting to keep the nervous tension away from her stomach. He helped by relaxing his own features into a softer expression. It was one of awkwardness, with lips pursed to the side before settling into a neutral line. He wasn't feeling any more confident than she, and that in itself was comforting. She didn't think she could have faced those cold steel eyes this morning.

"Morning," she said, keeping her voice low and non-confrontational.

"Yeah," he replied, and they stared at each other, waiting for the next round. He shifted slightly on his feet, the rubber tip of his cane squeaking on the freshly mopped tiles. "Cuddy said you hadn't taken the job yet."

Her thin shoulders bobbed up and down. "No. Not yet."

"But you're going to."

"I don't know if we should be talking about this right here."

"You said we'd talk later."

"I know, but--"

"You didn't sleep last night. Nightmares?"

Her eyes opened wider, and her mouth started to open, shocked that he would use her fears to goad her right in the middle of the hospital. He seemed to know what she was thinking because he took a half-step towards her and spoke quickly.

"I'm allowed to be concerned," he said gruffly, quietly, recalling their late night conversation about just that.

She was instantly ashamed that she'd thought him capable of turning his knowledge of her secrets into a tactical advantage.

"Yes," she agreed, not quite meeting his gaze because of her guilt. "I just couldn't sleep. That's all."

His gaze shifted hastily to the right and left before he touched her arm to draw her attention to his face.

"You're right to be suspicious of me. I'm not a nice man," he said, expression one of self-derision and stubbornness.

"So I've heard. Can't say I always disagree," she countered.

They were silent as a nurse walked by and then a janitor. Cameron thought that House had more to say, maybe to give his grudging blessing to her new job. He was waiting for her to tell him she'd decided to reconsider, and that by-the-way, she'd be over after work, as usual. Both knew that in actuality, neither of those scenarios was going to play out.

"Well this has been swell, but I need to get upstairs and see who's dying to come see me. Get it? Dying?" House spoke in jokes but his tone was sarcastic rather than humorous.

Cameron felt defeated, but tried not to show it.

"We still need to talk about things," she insisted, "just not right here in the hall. Lunch?"

"Sorry, my schedule's full up," he replied, and then nodded his head towards someone over her left shoulder, "And it looks like you've got your first patient of the day."

She turned to look and saw a nurse striding towards her with a chart in her hands. When she looked back at House, he was already limping away, and she released a long breath. The situation obviously wasn't going to get any easier any time soon.


	17. Chapter 16

No real comment this time... just read and let me know what you think...

**Chapter 16**

Cameron was right. Two days later found House still actively avoiding her and practically everyone else, to the extent that he'd virtually shut himself into his office and was refusing all consults; claiming that they were boring. Cuddy had finally cornered her in the cafeteria on Friday, and asked if she'd made her decision about switching departments. If not, then an official search would have to be launched. Cameron had followed her back to her office and signed the paperwork that afternoon, feeling guilty even while knowing she was making the right move.

She went up to try to have that much-delayed talk with House immediately afterwards, but he'd already left for the day and hung a cheeky "Gone Fishin'" sign on his door. Before all of the tension between them, she wouldn't have thought twice about following him home, but now she was wary. If he got angry and tossed her out, she feared that their relationship would never be the same, even if he didn't really mean it.

Luckily the lab had centrifuges that needed recalibration, and she took herself and her emotions down there.

An hour later, she was surprised to be disturbed by an Australian-accented voice speaking quietly from the door.

"Need help?"

She turned and faced Chase, glad that this time there had been no tears involved, just swirling thoughts.

"Almost done," she told him.

"House is gone and you're down here. I guess this means you've made up your mind about leaving."

"I haven't actually told House, but yes."

He nodded and moved to lean against the counter across from her.

"I'm sure it doesn't mean much these days, but I'll be sorry to see you go."

"Chase…" she felt like, looking at him now, she could see some of that friendship they'd shared a year ago.

"Eh, don't worry about it. I've been sort of an ass. I can admit that."

She chuckled lightly. "Well, you've gotten a lot better lately."

"Yeah. I guess that's because I could tell that you were happier, and so was he. Not that I care much about how he feels, but it does make him a little easier to be around."

"Thanks. I think," she said, accenting her words with a tilted smile.

He shrugged and headed to the door. "Okay, well, he's gone and I'm heading out for the weekend."

"Have a good one."

Pausing with his hand on the glass door, he looked back over his shoulder. "You too. I hope you and House sort things out."

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed through the door and walked away, leaving Cameron to release a breathy sigh and roll her shoulders. She was hoping the same exact thing. She couldn't know that a few floors up, someone else was hoping right along with her, and he was about to do something to push that hope along.

* * *

Snow was falling again in Princeton, and driving around in it at nearly one in the morning was not the smartest thing to do. The town wasn't known for its prompt snow removal and tire tracks through the accumulating flakes were as close to plowed roads as Wilson could find. Unfortunately for him, one a.m. was the perfect time to confront House. He'd have had enough to drink to be argumentative, but not enough to be belligerent. Argumentative was just what he wanted, because it was as close to open as he was ever going to find the man. 

As anticipated, the living room light was still on in the townhouse, and Wilson was lucky enough to find a parking spot that was less than a block away. He trudged along the sidewalk, cursing the fact that he hadn't changed out of his expensive dress shoes.The anger actually worked in his favor. He'd need it to hold his own against House.

A dozen more steps, and he was climbing the stairs to the front door. His knocking was anything but subtle and he increased in volume with every third rap. He was rewarded for his efforts when the door was yanked inward away from his bruised knuckles.

"What the hell are you doing here?" House asked, leaning on the door for support and carrying a glass of scotch in his other hand.

"Came to talk," Wilson said, walking right in before House could shut the door. "Looks like I got here just in time."

The living room was in some disarray, with newspapers and books scattered on most surfaces, and evidence of past meals in the form of multiple take-out bags lines up in front of the sofa.

"Make yourself at home," House said sarcastically as he swung the door closed.

He limped back to where he'd been sitting; the easy chair beside the fireplace, with the bottle of scotch right beside it. Lowering himself artlessly into it, he didn't even flinch when the liquid in his glass sloshed over the side and onto his hand.

Wilson shook his head in mild disgust, swept the previous day's newspaper off the sofa and sat down.

"You've got to stop doing this, House."

A guileless gaze was the response. "Who me? What've I done?"

"Oh, I don't know," Wilson replied. "Sulking for days, skipping the hockey game, ignoring Cameron, drinking yourself into oblivion every night and then sleeping it off in the clinic every day." He ticked each item off on his fingers, then paused and looked at House. "Stop me if you've heard enough."

House looked at him with a sneer. "No, do go on," he said and sucked down the remains of his drink.

"For months you've been acting, dare I say, like a normal human being, and now in the span of three days you've turned into an irrational jackass!"

"I'm gonna tell Cameron to move in here."

Wilson had been about to launch into another tirade, but was struck dumb in mid-breath. His mouth snapped closed and he just stared for several seconds.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm pretty sure you heard me. You're younger than me, so I don't think you're going deaf yet."

"Tell her? You'll tell her to move in? You might want to ASK her. Then again, you're barely speaking to her, and you think that makes this the perfect time to invite her to move in?"

House poured himself another glass of scotch, very mindful of the fact that he hadn't offered any to Wilson, and frankly, not giving a damn.

"Sounds good to me."

Wilson rolled his eyes and scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"I could be wrong, but I think that maybe an apology and a good discussion would be a better way to get your relationship back on track."

"Right. And your marriage record definitely tells me that I should be following your advice," House said scoffed

The words really weren't meant to be taken personally, and Wilson knew that, but his level of frustration was high and the thoughtless remark had pushed him over into truly aggravated. He stood up, grabbed some newspaper from the floor and tossed it back onto the cushion where he'd been sitting.

"Well keep in mind that at least I managed to get three women to the altar. I haven't seen you manage that yet," he said, injecting some bitterness of his own.

House just glared at him in silence and remained seated as Wilson walked to the door.

"Look, House," Wilson tried one more time, just before he pulled the door open. "I know you love her, and she loves you too. Don't screw this up."

He didn't think House would reply, so he wasn't surprised when he didn't. With a slight shake of his head, he grabbed the doorknob, and a few minutes later he was driving through deeper snow back to his own house. He didn't know what the hell House was going to do, but now he was hoping that no matter how stupid it was, Cameron would see through it to the love that drove him to do it.

* * *

It was cold. That was what woke him. Not the pain; that was ever-present, and not the snow-brilliant light that streamed through windows he'd forgotten to cover with blinds. No, it was the cold, and the empty spot in his bed that should have been occupied by the soft, warm body of Allison Cameron. 

Wilson had assumed that he'd been on his fourth or fifth drink when he'd arrived, but it had actually only been his first. He'd spent a long time just staring at it and hadn't drunk any until Wilson's arrival. After Wilson's speech and departure, he'd wanted to toss back about three or four drinks in quick succession, but had ended up just finishing the one in his hand before popping a Vicodin and going to bed.

He was wishing now that he'd had more to drink. A hangover would have distracted him from the size and temperature of his bed.

Saturday morning was usually the best time of the week. Unless there was an urgent patient case, it was the beginning of two days of freedom, but that was only part of it. With nothing to rush off to, he and Cameron were able to enjoy just walking up together. He'd roll over and see her face, youthful and relaxed in slumber, and then he'd make bets with himself on how long he'd be able to just look at her without touching. It was never more than ten minutes. Then there were the rare times when she woke before him, and his wake-up call became her lips against his shoulder or her slender hand tracing lines along his chest.

There weren't any words spoken. They would have been redundant.

Words would come a few minutes later, when they were both fully awake, and often they would be snarky innuendo, or teasing little remarks, interspersed with more serious things that needed the surrounding humor as a shield. They'd make love, or not, depending on their moods, and would eventually leave the bed and start the day together.

He hadn't had that "together" feeling with anyone in over five years, and even then it had felt much, much different. It had been more volatile and less gentle; less about being together than about having needs met and impulses sated. Saturday mornings back then had always ended the same way: with carnal sex followed by him going for a five mile run and her going to the spa until noon.

Now, with that his only point of reference, he lay on his back and went over his options while waiting for his painkiller to kick in.

Cameron was leaving the department. That was a fact. Cuddy had politely informed him of that fact via email. No doubt, she hadn't wanted to bear the full brunt of his temper when he got the news. She would have been surprised by his mild reaction. He'd already known what Cameron would do. She'd accused him of not being happy for her or proud of her, but beneath his indignation, he was both of those things. It would be a good move for her. She'd be very successful there, and no doubt help a lot of people.

A good move that had led to the logical conclusion that other good moves would also be in her future. Insecurity was a wasted emotion and he despised himself for it. Tried to convince himself that it was just his abhorrence of change that made him so angry about her move and so unwilling to accept it gracefully. He needed to think of a counterattack against it.

Having her move in seemed the perfect idea. She'd gotten job security on her own, but he could give her security at home, and he knew that was something she craved. Why wouldn't she jump at the chance? Hell, Stacy had moved in after only two weeks, at her own insistence. It was a normal step in a relationship, and although their relationship wasn't what anyone would call normal, Cameron had to long for it to be slightly more conventional.

The sun shining through the windows made him squint, and he rubbed his hand over his eyes and left his forearm covering them, his other hand reaching to the spot that should have been Cameron's. He'd spent a good part of the past four days trying to convince himself that he was better off without her. She made him soft and vulnerable. She made him think and feel too much. He was completely unsuccessful in his efforts, because as much as he loathed the fact that his well-constructed armor couldn't protect him from her, he couldn't hate the way he felt when he was with her, and he couldn't regret it.

* * *

Cameron rolled over in bed, her eyes sliding just barely open as she tugged the blankets into a tighter cocoon around herself. She wasn't quite sure what had woken her, but the clock told her that it was only seven-thirty, and after almost a week of not sleeping well, she was hoping to get just a little bit more rest. She sighed, wishing that she was waking up in House's bed, but at the same time proud of the fact that she hadn't given in to him. It might have felt good to have the tension gone and his arms around her, but in reality she would have been putting an irreparable crack in their relationship. Eventually she would have resented him, and he would have continued to take advantage, and their happy life would have collapsed around them. 

She rolled over again, and a sound broke the morning silence. It was obviously the sound that had woken her in the first place, and it was a sound recognized immediately.The rest of her sleepiness was quickly blinked from her eyes as she fumbled out from under the covers and made a swipe for her robe which was lying at the food of her bed.

Her thin, cold little fingers were still tying the sash when she walked into the living room and the noise started up again, this time a bit faster and louder. The deadbolt was thrown back with a solid thunk, and then the brass chain was undone and the door pulled open.

Because of the tell-tale knocking, Cameron was entirely unsurprised to see House standing there with his cane raised in mid-knock. She was, however, surprised to see that he was there at all, and that he was holding a cardboard tray from Starbucks in his free hand.

"I took a chance that you hadn't gone off coffee since last weekend," House quipped, lifting the tray slightly.

Cameron blinked and shook her head. "No." As the reality of the situation settled in, her own quick wit returned. "Especially not if it has extra whipped cream and cinnamon."

"That would be the one on the right," he indicated.

The smile he hadn't seen in days played lightly over her lips as she took her coffee and held the door open while he walked inside.

"Love what you've done to the place," he commented, taking a seat in the middle of the sofa and forcing her to either sit beside him or sit in the chair.

"Keen powers of deduction, since the only thing that's changed is the pile of mail."

He winked knowingly at her. "Ah, yes, that's why they call me the Sherlock of medicine."

"Who?"

"Oh, I don't know. Legions of fans I'm sure." He was still waiting for her to sit down and was starting to get edgy.

"Does that make me the president of the fan club?" she asked, sitting down to his right, with one leg curled beneath her.

"You tell me," he said, and the surface bantering was broken.

She toyed with the lid of her coffee cup, thumb running along the smooth plastic edge.

"I think I could be persuaded to keep that particular position," she said slowly and then looked into his face.

He was nodding and then took a drink of coffee. "Good… good."

"You had some doubts?"

"Well you know, those gossip rags have always had it in for me. Could turn even the most loyal fan."

Her hand moved to his knee and he was forced to look at her. "I need you to be serious right now."

The half-comic expression fell away, replaced by the lined and weary face of a forty-five year old man with more doubts than he would ever admit to.

"Well I didn't come here just to bring you coffee, and trade witticisms," he said.

Even after hearing him say that, she didn't think he would be the one to start the discussion.

"It's been a bad week," she said, not laying blame on either of them to start. "I shouldn't have pushed you after David Flynn died," she had known it was a mistake even then and could still admit it.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Probably not," he told her and then, after a few seconds pause, "I might have been able to handle it better."

It was a grudging apology but more than he would have given to anyone else.

They sat there drinking their coffees with Cameron wondering when she should bring up the other elephant in the room, and House just waiting for her to do so.

"I took the job in Immunology," she said when she couldn't stand the silence for one more second.

She expected a sarcastic retort of some kind, but he just evenly replied, "I got the memo."

Her eyes were on him, waiting for him to say something else, a congratulations, a quip about how he'd never find the sugar, an explanation for why he hadn't supported her in the first place. She watched while his gaze bounced around her living room: from photograph to window, to door, to coffee table.

"Now that's settled, when are you going to ditch this place and move in?"

He couldn't help but notice that her reaction to that suggestion was exactly the same as Wilson's had been.

"What?" she asked, certain that she had misheard him. "Move in?"

"Right," he said, as if he'd just asked her to go across town for lunch.

Her mind was whirling. Of course she'd considered that they might eventually move in together, but not like this. With him coming to her as if it was a fait accompli and she was just the last puzzle piece that needed to be fitted into place.

And then there was an entirely different reason for him to suddenly decide to invite her to move in… if invite was even the right word for what he'd just done.

Her expression must have flitted between ten different emotions in ten seconds, with her eyebrows knit above the bridge of her nose, and that tiny wrinkle appearing between them.

"Asking me to move in is not going to make me change my mind about the job," she told him flatly.

"I never thought it would," he replied.

"Then what is this about?" She couldn't help but feel completely confused, as if the room had suddenly tilted just forty-five degrees to the left.

"I thought that was pretty clear. You. Me. Living together."

"I know THAT. I mean, how can you just suggest something like that? We haven't even talked about it. Not one word."

"We're talking now," he said, as if that solved that problem.

"You know that's not what I mean!" She was starting to get agitated, and she put down her coffee and crossed her arms across her chest in that familiar position of defense.

House had expected surprise, but not this near-anger that he was confronted with. "We've been practically living together for months. Your clothes take up half of my closet. I decided it was time to make it official and put an end to my need to chase after you if we have another fight."

"You decided," she repeated his words, feeling sick to her stomach. She wanted so much to just say that she would move in, that she would love to move in, that she wanted to share her life with him, but she couldn't… not this way. "Decisions like that are part of the reason I had to move to Immunology," she said, shaking her head and pushing herself to her feet. "We could never be equals there, and that would always bleed over to our relationship. We need to be partners. Equal partners. We need to talk about the big decisions, not just make them on a whim."

She regretted that last phrase. She knew he hadn't decided on a whim. Asking her to move in was a huge risk for him to take. It made him completely vulnerable no matter how cavalierly he approached it. He wouldn't have even suggested it if he hadn't thoroughly thought it through, at least from his end.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "Just a flight of fancy on my part." He was on his feet a second later, cane stabbing at her wood floor.

A hesitant step forward, and Cameron started to reach out towards him, but he turned away.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said. "I just meant that we have to really talk about such a huge decision. We both need to take the time to think about it."

He spun around, cane striking her end table. "Funny," he spat out. "When Stacy moved in, we didn't talk about it at all. I just turned around and she was there. Nice and easy."

Whereas Cameron's words had been unintentionally hurtful, House's were double-edged and meant to wound. Right up until he saw the look on her face.

She almost visibly shook, and all color, save for two bright spots on her cheeks, left her face in an instant. Her hands were fists at her sides, and she stared up at him as if she couldn't believe what he'd said.

"I think you should go now," she said, and her voice was soft but demanding.

House didn't hesitate, although a hundred voices in his head were telling him to fucking fix things between them. He left his coffee on her end table and limped to the door, letting himself out without a backward glance. He only looked back as he was driving away, and he swore he could see her standing at her living room window, watching him leave.


	18. Chapter 17

Ahhh... at last, some resolution. Sorry this took a little longer to get out. It took slightly longer to write than I expected... keeping things realistic in a "real world" sense while still keeping the characters true requires a delicate touch sometimes! Then, when I went to post, it seemed that the site was down for logins. ANYWAY, here it is and I hope you all find it enjoyable.

**Chapter 17**

Retreat was a rare tactic for House to employ. He generally preferred bullying his opponents or browbeating them; using his considerable verbal skills to wear them down until they were the ones who left or were pushed into agreeing with him. It always worked around the office, and he hated that it didn't work in his personal life as well. So instead of engaging in a tense shouting match with Cameron -- and losing -- he had gone to the place that reminded him of his strengths.

He hadn't bothered turning on any lights in the office, but he'd opened the window blinds and left the door open. No one was going to be wandering by looking for a consult or clinic hours on a Saturday afternoon. The bottom drawer of his desk was open, but only because he was using it as a prop for his leg. He hadn't restocked it with scotch and he supposed that he should have stopped at the liquor store on the way to the hospital, but in fact he didn't have any interest in drinking this time. He wanted to get the full effect of his self-derision.

In the field across from the hospital, some Princeton students were horsing around in the clean, fresh snow. There was a football involved, but mainly it appeared to be snow that was being thrown around, quickly turning the pick-up game into an all-out war. House idly wondered how Cameron would react to being pegged in the back by a snowball. She'd probably turn around and whip one right back at whoever had hit her.

The sound of rubber-soled footsteps came squeaking along the hallway, and House pushed himself deeper into his chair. No sense looking approachable enough for anyone to think of stopping. It was probably some eager young intern scouring the hospital for sick people to heal, or a janitor in search of a trashcan that hadn't already been emptied. House kept his concentration on the people across the street, and winced slightly when the footsteps in the hallway slowed. He was urging their maker to keep moving and was surprised when they casually entered his office without even a pause.

"Oh, God, you actually went through with it." Wilson's exasperated voice cut the silence and House swiveled around in his chair for the express purposes of glaring at him.

"Don't you have someplace better to be? And what the hell are those on your feet?"

Wilson's hands were on his hips, the stalwart soldier as usual. "I have a patient in critical condition, and they're called sneakers. You didn't trademark their use, you know. It's the weekend, and the snow isn't good for Italian leather."

"You're in the HOSPITAL because of a patient. I asked why you're HERE. Checking up on me?

"As a matter of fact, no. I just came here to steal your hand-held TV. I figured you had more sense than to screw things up any more than you already have. I thought you'd be with Cameron."

House rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window, but now he was just staring out in order to avoid Wilson's accusatory expression. That didn't keep the younger doctor from talking.

"So, let me guess. You didn't apologize, you tried to ignore it all, and then you sprang your grand plan on her. What the hell were you thinking?"

Spinning around, House pinned him with a vicious look. "I was thinking that I know her better than you do."

"No you weren't," Wilson said, shaking his head. "You were thinking that she could read your mind. That she's already put up with so much of your coded non-relationship talk, that she'd just go along with you and be happy about it. But she surprised you. Because she's not as doe-eyed and compliant as she used to be, and she's demanding that you recognize that. In other words, she's actually daring to try for a functioning healthy relationship with you." Wilson hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "How stupid can she be, right?" he said sarcastically.

House sneered. "Well if you've got it all figured out, than let's hear the rest."

"No. Not this time," Wilson said, ignoring the flash of shock that whisked across House's face before being replaced by dry disinterest. "I gave you advice and you ignored it. I've been giving you advice for almost a year and half the time you just ignore it and then I have to give you even more. You're a grown man, Greg. Start fixing your own damn mistakes."

House was staring at him with a shell-shocked look in his eyes, which he didn't even try to mask. Wilson shook his head again, grabbed the TV off of the desk and made his way back to the door, knowing that House wouldn't say anything -- he could read him that well, at least. He was going to just walk straight out of the office and back to the oncology ward where he would sit in the hallway waiting for one of his patients to live or die based on the vagaries of fate. He wanted to leave House to his own devices, now that he'd given him a harsh wake-up call. A tired sigh wove its way up from his chest and he paused in the doorway and scrubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.

"If you need to talk," he said, in a voice that held support, even as it was laced with frustration, "give me a call."

He left the door open, the way he'd found it, and the sound of his footsteps once again filled the otherwise silent corridor.

As even that noise faded away, House tried to push Wilson's words from his head, but it wasn't that easy. Before Wilson's arrival he'd been trying to convince himself of several things. He'd started off with the stubborn belief that it was really Cameron's fault and that she would come around eventually.

Then, he'd moved on to convincing himself that if things between him and Cameron were going to end, then it was for the best… better sooner than later. Squashing his early-morning feelings and casting them as aberrations in his normally sane personality was better than dwelling on them. Imagining that everything good had to inevitably end badly had always worked for him in the past and he'd fall back on it again. Cynicism had always been a very convenient shield, one he'd used often; keeping expectations low and disappointments to a minimum. If the whole thing had been nothing but an experience doomed to failure anyway, then he could slough off his responsibility for that failure.

He wanted to keep repeating those things to himself, to convince himself that they were true, but the real, harsh, scared-the-shit-out-of-him truth was that he needed her. It wasn't that sappy, idealistic can't-live-without-you need, but something that went deeper. He needed her because she filled all the places that made him want to open his eyes every morning.

He already had a purpose: medicine. It had been that way for decades, and would continue that way for decades more. That was what drove him and gave his life meaning, but lately everything else seemed to be Cameron. The peace, the quiet happiness, the soul-deep contentment, the human connection that made everything else worth-while. It came from her. He could easily survive without her, but it would be a black and white existence, and with her he'd become accustomed to color.

His cane was propped against the bookcase, and he reached for it and hauled himself to his feet. This couldn't go on any longer. Wilson hadn't given him advice this time, he'd given him another truth that he needed to hear. This was his problem and he was going to fix it.  
The roads were clear and he drove much too fast, but as with all things, once he got an idea in his head, he wanted to act on it as quickly as possible. Nessun Dorma blared through the stereo speakers and as he drove he came to another realization. He wasn't breaking the speed limit and taking every short cut just because he needed her. A band tightened around his chest at the thought that he knew she needed him too, and that he actually WANTED her to need him. He didn't feel trapped by it or suffocated by the weight of responsibility that heaped on him. Like the trip to Wisconsin, and sitting beside her after her surgery, it was something that made him feel more alive and complete than he had in years.

The parking lot beside Cameron's apartment building was practically abandoned. Nothing like a beautiful, cold winter's day to make everyone flee towards the malls. He swung into the spot beside Cameron's car and cut the engine, wondering if she could hear his car from inside her apartment. Wondering if she would be throwing an extra lock on the door.

Creaky stairs, and a railing that always seemed about to give way, but House limped up to her door without noticing either of them. It felt like too much déjà vu, and he actually had a spark of fear flare briefly in his chest. He didn't want this to be a repeat of that morning. Still, he used his cane to knock, as usual, and his stance was cocky, as he stood waiting for the door to open or Cameron's voice to tell him to leave.

Except that he really did know her well enough to be certain that she would open the door.

After only four raps on the thick wood, he heard the locks slide out of place and the door swung open, revealing Cameron in over-dyed jeans and a bulky red sweater, standing with a hand loosely curled around the doorknob. She was silent as she took a step back to allow him passage, but there were questions in her eyes and strength in the set of her shoulders. House knew that he would have to be the first to speak this time.

It probably wasn't wise to start right in with his most serious blunder, but it was very him.

"I shouldn't have said what I did about Stacy. I'm sorry."

And just the fact that it was an honest and straightforward apology made Cameron jerk slightly in surprise, and blink her enormous eyes at him. They seemed even larger than usual, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and House was staring at them in an attempt to read her reaction. She wasn't crossing her arms, at least.

"Do you compare us all the time?" she asked simply, and he was surprised at the question, although he supposed he shouldn't have been. She almost always said exactly what was on her mind.

"No," he replied, and he didn't blink as their gazes locked. "I only think of her when I'm mad or frustrated about something. I suppose that makes sense. But in any comparison between you, there hasn't even been a fair fight. You win every time. I didn't have a relationship with her. I had an arrangement. And it was a mutually beneficial one at the time, and as much as I thought I wanted or needed." He shrugged and made a vague motion with his cane. "Times change."

"What about people?" She was asking all the tough questions now, but she knew she wouldn't get another chance.

"Probably not as much as they should."

"That was a trick question. I've never asked you to change for me."

Of course she was right, and he couldn't answer back to that. They stood, little islands in the pool of silence that flowed around them, and House knew that just apologizing wasn't enough this time. There'd been too many words spoken and now she needed more to replace the ones she had spiraling around in her head.

"You think I don't see you as equal," he told her. "You're wrong. I know that in every way that matters on a human level, you're worth half a dozen of me. Everyone knows that. Hell, I've had people telling me that since day one. It's what's kept me up at night since the day David Flynn died."

Cameron was watching him intently, seeing every twitch in his expression, every darting motion of his eyes. He was actually telling her about his insecurities, and yet the words were only half of it. She could read so much more from his face. From the reason he'd been upset at her leaving the department, to the reason he'd so quickly decided that she should move in. But there was more than just anxiety driving him now, and there always had been. He was a master at disguising his feelings, but now, she knew all his tells.

"I don't see things that way," she said. "You know me. You know how I've always felt about you."

She left off telling him he didn't need to worry, but she stood in wonder that he could even think that after the way they were together, that she could ever think about having the same connection with anyone else. She could see, perhaps better, and certainly clearer than he, how their ragged edges fit so perfectly together. How they'd filled spaces and mended raw places for one another in such a way that to break apart now would be practically impossible. They'd moved beyond a simple relationship and into something that was much, much more.

But they still stood apart, House now leaning on his cane, and Cameron looking small and tired. The silence was awkward, but they were both thinking about how it was so much better than hurtful words.

"Are we done fighting now?" House asked when he couldn't take it any more.

Cameron nodded, and didn't say anything when he took a long stride towards her and pulled her almost roughly into his embrace.

It was strong and tight, with his coat buttons pressing into her ribcage, and her knee jostling his leg, but they were breathing the same air again, breathing each other again, and it felt like perfection, although of course it wasn't. There were still a lot of things that needed to be said, and worked out, and some that would probably still be ignored. They both knew that, but they could wait for a little while. Everything could wait, except for their need to feel that connection between them renewed.

"I'm tired," Cameron said, her voice muffled against House's chest.

"Yeah. Sleep would be good."

And she led him to her bedroom, to the first place they'd ever laid side by side, and they stripped off coat, sweater, shirts and jeans and slid under the cool white sheets to curl together in a mirror of a long ago position. He didn't have to ask if draping his arm over her belly was all right. She didn't have to tug him closer. He pulled the binding from her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo while she stroked one finger along his strong forearm. By the time the sun had slipped below the tree-line, they were both peacefully asleep for the first time in almost a week.

The night encroached quickly on the sleeping couple, with the sounds from outside muffled by a layer of snow, and the sounds inside limited to their synchronized breathing. Sleep was healing for both of them, but as the hours passed, that comforting veil began to lift from one of them.

House didn't want to wake up, but the gnawing pain in his leg refused to subside, and finally forced him to wrench his eyes open. It was disorienting to wake up in a room that was pitch black save for a small nightlight shining from the corner. He hadn't slept in Cameron's bed since those early days of their relationship. He moved experimentally, testing the pain in his leg, and wincing at its strength. But at least he wasn't cold, and he could turn his head to the side and see Cameron's form curled beside him. They'd separated a bit, and now she was facing him, with one hand resting lightly on his bicep.

The Vicodin was in his jacket pocket, and that was on the floor near Cameron's small vanity. Damned stupid of him not to remember to put them on the bedside table, but he hadn't been thinking about them at the time.

"Where are they?" Cameron's soft voice broke the silence gently.

"Jacket. On the bench," he replied.

His words were followed by the rustling of sheets, a few quick footsteps and a familiar rattle. Cameron slipped back into bed and handed the bottle to him without a word, waiting a minute for him to open it and swallow a pill.

"It isn't even midnight yet," she said after he'd released a breath of air and she'd watched through the dim light as some of the tension left his face.

"We had a good six hour nap."

Cameron wasn't sure what they should be doing. Talking? Not talking? Holding each other some more? If they were going to talk, she didn't want to do it in bed. That was a place for comfort and peace, not arguments or hard conversations.

"You hungry?" she asked as if eating at midnight was a perfectly normal occurrence.

"I could eat," he replied, acting exactly the same.

"I think I have some eggs here that haven't gone bad, and some non-moldy bread. We could have scrambled eggs and toast."

"Sounds good. You're in charge of the toaster."

Cameron grinned into the darkness, just happy that even with the heaviness of their fight hanging over them, they could still have easy moments as well. "I'm honored."

Just the few minutes they'd spent talking was enough for the Vicodin to take the edge off of House's pain, either through psycho-somatic effect or pharmacological. He let out a little grunt and propped himself into a sitting position before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and Cameron followed suit, not paying any more or less attention to his awkward first steps than usual. He pulled his jeans on, and his hopelessly wrinkled shirt while she wrapped herself in her robe.

If she'd thought about it, Cameron would have seen the symmetry between this scene and the one that followed had the very first night House had ever spent at her apartment. She often thought that their relationship was a continuous spiral; going over similar scenarios again and again, but growing stronger and deeper with each pass through familiar territory. This qualified as one of those situations but this time it felt like the growth wasn't subtle as it usually was, but instead marked a change that would have required a mark in her diary if she'd been girlish enough to keep one.

She led the way to the kitchen, flipping on the overhead light as she went. Droning sound flaring to life along with the florescent bulb. House limped in after her and went straight to the refrigerator while she pulled bread from the cupboard and plugged in the toaster. She couldn't remember now, why she always unplugged it after using it. Some news story about electrical fires or a warning from a friend or maybe her mother, that was now ingrained in her mind to the point that she couldn't leave the kitchen with it still plugged in. She was like that about a lot of things; taking advice and warnings to heart. Not wanting to take any risks. Yet the biggest things in her life were things she had been warned against: her career and her relationship with House. She glanced over at him and saw that he'd found cheese and tomatoes and spinach and was adding them all to the scrambled eggs. Maybe she'd been storing up all of her bravery for the times when it really mattered.

"That bread isn't going to toast itself," House said when he flicked his eyes in her direction and saw her staring at him. Her gaze had reminded him of a thoughtful but satisfied cat, and he'd needed to break it because it made him feel uncomfortable yet pleased at the same time.

"I was just timing it to be done at the same time as the eggs," she replied, a lie, but a tiny one.

House jerked his head more than nodded, a sign that he didn't really believe her but would let it go anyway. He wondered when the serious talking was going to start up again, and then suddenly he was speaking.

"You know, Kingsly's going to be a complete ass for at least six months. The power will go straight to his head. So be prepared."

Cameron nearly started at House's casual reference to her new job and new boss. "I will be," she said, although she couldn't imagine Dr. Kingsly turning into a nouveau Napoleon. He was an utterly calm and easy-going man who reminded her of her fourth-grade English teacher.

He flicked his eyes in her direction again, thinking of how she had changed from a smart but deferential physician into one who was even smarter and could also go head to head with him even when he was at his most irrational while still keeping every bit of her empathy, kindness and humanity.

"Of course," he said, "after working for me, I suppose you can handle just about anyone." And he wondered if she could tell that that was his off-handed way of saying that he was proud of her.

Her smile, the shy one that only came out when she received some unexpected praise, was the answer to that question. He wished he'd thrown more compliments at her. She'd often deserved them, and it would have let him see that smile more often.

"Working for you HAS been an education," she replied with a hint of teasing.

"Damn right. Better than an Ivy League degree. In fact, I'm thinking of designing a diploma for you to hang in your new office."

"I think it would impress people more than my degree from the Mayo Clinic. Everyone knows you're tougher," she told him, grinning as she buttered the toast.

A swift smile crossed House's lips as he dumped the eggs onto two plates, but as he turned around and saw Cameron stepping lightly around the table, delivering toast and setting out the silverware, the true seriousness of the situation once again intruded. She was smiling because she could read between the lines of his cavalier comments and attitude, but assuming that she always could, and that it was always enough, was part of what had led to their fight in the first place.

"Immunology will be lucky to have you," he said abruptly, and more gruffly than he'd intended.

Cameron turned her wide-eyed gaze towards him and tilted her head slightly to the right, in a sort of pleasantly surprised shrug.

"Thank you," she said, and left it at that because she knew that anything else would have made him uncomfortable.

They were nearly done eating, with few words spoken, when Cameron dug through her anxiety to be able to speak about the serious things which kept tension hovering around them.

"I don't like it when we fight," she said to start.

House swallowed his last fork-full of eggs before saying, "I'm not wild about it either."

"Good," she said with a nod, staring down at her plate for a long moment before looking up and catching his eye. "I know that you didn't ask me to move in on a whim." She saw him tense slightly and willed him to hear her out before shutting her down. "I don't want to agree to move in on a whim of my own."

House was looking at her questioningly, but at least he wasn't jerking himself to his feet and pacing.

"That's what it would be if I just said yes right now," she explained. "I want to be with you. You believe that, don't you?"

His mouth quirked to one side and then the other before he said, "You've given me that impression and so far your sanity doesn't seem to be in question."

"And I've never asked you to change for me. To be someone different than you are. Right?"

It sounded like a trick question, and House just nodded sharply.

"I'm still not asking for that, but I need something from you. I need you to give me just a little time before I say yes. You don't like talking about things. You just like making decisions and acting on them, but this time--"

"You need this to work like a normal healthy relationship," House cut in, repeating words that Wilson had said.

She gave him a slightly crooked grin. "I wouldn't say that our relationship will ever be normal, but I need to feel like I'm not just going along with your decisions out of worry that you'll leave me if I don't," she said, smile drifting away as she laid her fears before him. "Because if I do that… if I let that happen… then I'm afraid of what we'd become."

House was silent, but it wasn't an angry silence. He was pulling in her words, shaking them around in his head and coming to the same conclusion she had. He didn't want that outcome for them either. He hadn't even considered it when he'd blurted out his ham-handed invitation thinking that she'd just been waiting for him to ask. He hadn't given her enough credit for her patience. While he'd thought that a sign of commitment would ease the anxiety she had about any happiness not lasting, he'd actually played right into it. It stung that she couldn't say yes right that minute, but she'd said that she would say it eventually. He'd promised her before that he would give her time. He could do that again.

"Take as much time as you need," he said, knowing that there had to be some strain of bitterness and disappointment in his tone, but unable to completely obliterate those feelings.

Cameron stayed in her seat as House stood up and carried their plates to the sink, the sound of china striking aluminum rough in her ears. She could see how hard he was trying, and how he was actually understanding her point of view. When he stayed at the sink, she pushed back her chair and walked up behind him, pressing her hand down over his on the handle of his cane.

"I love you," she said, ducking her head to look up into his eyes. Words so rarely spoken possessed more power, and she felt his hand relax beneath hers.

"I believe you," he said, and at that moment those words meant more than a repetition of hers would have, but he opened his mouth again to say, "You know--"

"I know," she said, cutting him off and letting her eyes speak for her. "Let's go back to bed."

He nodded and they turned as one towards the hallway.

"I'm still going to be paging you for whiteboard consults, you realize," he said, voice falling into its normal cadence. "And you owe me for making me interview immunologists AGAIN."

"I think I can come up with a few ways to make it up to you," she told him, and crossed the threshold to the bedroom while letting her robe drop to the floor.

After she slipped from her robe and padded barefooted to the bed, House nudged aside the discarded garment and followed her into the room. He reached the bed just as she removed the last of her clothing, and was granted a long look at her naked body before she climbed into the bed. He hadn't forgotten how beautiful she was during their brief separation but seeming his memory in the flesh was still enough to make his muscles tense in anticipation.

"You planning on joining me?" she asked, and while her tone and raised eyebrow were coy, House could sense that there was still uncertainty there too. Uncertainty about whether or not they really were "okay" and whether he really would give her the time she needed.

He felt a little more bitterness leech away as he locked eyes with her. "Just enjoying the view," he replied, words sounding more sincere than sarcastic, and stripped off the remains of his clothes.

When he joined her under the sheet and comforter, she quickly molded herself to his side, greedy for contact that had been denied for too long. She needed the feel of him against her skin, the smell of him in every breath, and the sound of his groan when she walked her fingers down his stomach and curled them around his arousal. Shifting around, she propped herself up on her other elbow and started kissing his shoulder, his neck, and then his chest, easing herself down his body a bit with each kiss.

House knew, by the time she reached the middle of his ribcage, what her destination was, and he even thought he knew the reason why. She'd said that she'd "make it up to him", and here she was following through with it. Not that he really thought she believed there was anything to "make up" in the first place. No, she was after something else. She wanted to make things perfect between them again, or as perfect as they ever got, and she'd decided that mind-blowing sex was a good way to get there.

She was right, but he couldn't let her do it. She wasn't the one who owed him something. She wasn't the one who needed to ensure that things were okay between them. She'd made a few missteps, but he was the one who'd leapt into trouble, even with one gimpy leg. Her voice, with its slight undertone of uneasiness, echoed in his mind, and he didn't like the sound of it. He remembered how she'd told him that she didn't want to go through their relationship wondering if he'd abandon it all if she disagreed or fought him. He didn't want that either, and the way she was kissing him, as if she had something to atone for, let him know that perhaps in some unconscious way, she was still worried. Her actions so far had been playful, and maybe he was reading too much into things, but he still had his own amends to make, and he could start right now.

Cameron's eyebrows rose, and she looked at him questioningly when he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her up until she was face to face with him, resting on top of him and along his good leg.

"I've decided to forgive all debts," he said, because he couldn't think of any other way to tell her that he knew who really deserved penance.

But she seemed to understand anyway, and smiled down at him. "I was enjoying myself," she said, assuring him that she knew he didn't actually expect her to feel she owed him anything. "And you seemed to be enjoying yourself too." She arched herself against him gently and felt the answering throb against her hip.

"Yeah, but I enjoy this too," he said, and tugged her upwards again, kissing his way across her clavicle, and down the slope of her chest until he could taste one of his favorite parts of her.

A delicate moan slipped from parted lips and Cameron braced herself above him and gave in to his current desire to worship her body.

He wasn't the only one who thought he could read minds, and she had a feeling that he hadn't purged himself completely of his guilty feelings. She would let him have his way. His mouth was doing wonderful things to her body, sending electric sparks through her nerve endings and causing involuntary contractions and a deep ache between her legs. Her hip pressed against him again, and when she felt him respond in kind, she moved to straddle his waist. At that same moment, House pushed upwards and flipped her onto her back, making her let out a surprised squeak.

With his bad leg, it was just easier for her to be on the top most of the time, but he wanted to feel her legs wrapped around him, and be able to look down at her with her hair splayed across the pillow and her flushed chest heaving with exertion. He stroked one hand through the hair at her temple and lowered his head to her shoulder, kissing her in the sensitive spot where it joined her slender neck. There would be a mark in the morning; one of the few he'd ever left on her. She'd once told him, in an embarrassed tone, after being caught staring at a red love-bite on her chest months ago, that she actually liked seeing them. It had unsettled him at the time. As if marking her showed an commitment he didn't deserve, and wasn't sure he wanted. He'd said it himself: times changed.

His weight was pressing her to the bed, injured leg unable to support him, but pressing along the inside of her leg, the warmth of her inner thigh pulsing against his scar. The sensation couldn't be described as pleasure; nothing about that leg gave him that feeling, but it was a much duller ache with her flesh filling in the missing pieces. Up on his arms again, forearms braced on either side of her shoulders, he could stare down at her while letting the motion of his lower body pull soft whimpers from her mouth and undulating movement from her hips.

"Open your eyes," he said, trying not to make it sound like a demand.

She almost always closed her eyes when she was close to fulfillment, and it was difficult for her to open them, but she did, locking them with his as he gave into her body's pleas and his body's demands. His name fell from her lips as he sank into her, onto her, around her, lowering himself until his chest was rubbing against hers, and his mouth was upon hers, stifling her words, but tasting them on his tongue. She was still repeating his name when she started trembling around him, and he was still kissing her when he poured into her and felt her fully release.

Holding himself up afterwards, was not something he had the strength to do, even with his muscular arms. He angled himself to the side and collapsed with his body still half on top of hers, and his hot breath skimming along her sweat-dampened neck. She was still breathing heavily and he didn't expect much from her in terms of words or movement so he was mildly surprised when she turned her head to look at him and reached up to rub his stubble-ridden jaw.

"You do make-up sex really well," she said, eyes soft as they traced his features.

"Hopefully I won't be having much practice at it, so it's good to know I'm a natural."

She chuckled, low in her throat. "You know," she said after a minute of trying to find the right words, "I'm not going to keep score." And it was her way of letting him know that she hadn't expected him to think he owed her something.

Such a peculiar facet of their relationship that neither wanted the other to feel guilty. Maybe because guilt led to resentment and feelings of inequality and this whole incident had let them know that that was the opposite of what they wanted to have together. House looked into Cameron's face, cheeks still pink with pleasure, and mouth still swollen from their kisses. Scorekeeping or not, he was glad he'd given her that satiated expression.

"Well, not keeping score for the fighting is good, but I think that performance rates at least a nine," he said, voice low and mouth quirked up into a smug grin.

"Oh, well that kind of score I can give you," she said agreeably, with her own little smile. "It was a definite ten."

He growled and nipped at her chin. "Yeah, same for you."

"I didn't actually have to do much," she teased. "You stopped me before I got to the good stuff."

Smirking at her, he replied, "There's always next time."

This time her laugh was light and airy, and House felt his warped little world slide back into alignment.

The next time he woke up, there was actual sunlight coming through the windows and although the room was strange and the bed didn't contain the dips and bumps he had memorized, it did contain Cameron. She was lying on her back with one hand resting lightly across her stomach and the other curled beside her cheek on the pillow. He figured he could wait five minutes before he'd be forced to wake her with either a kiss or a poking finger and he had a feeling he knew which.


	19. Chapter 18

**My usual babbling note:**

Thanks for your continued patience… I had a tough week and it took me a bit longer to get this written. I seem to be springing back, health-wise, though, so the next chapter should come faster. For those who are interested, this chapter starts the last quarter of the story. I currently have it outlined as 24 chapters plus an epilogue. Whew! In the home stretch now! Thanks again for your support!**  
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**Chapter 18**

Sunday came and went, and by nightfall House and Cameron were back at the townhouse and Cameron had brought enough clothes for the week. There was an unspoken agreement that the topic of cohabitation would not be mentioned except by her, when she was ready, but House had released the last vestiges of disappointed petulance during a day spent in comfortable Sunday relaxation. Extra attention had been paid to the rhythm of her step and the way the sunlight glinted off even graying snow banks to light her eyes brilliantly. He'd decided to remember all those little things the next time he decided to feel stubborn enough to turn to a twelve-year-old bottle instead of her. 

They ended the day with a marathon of General Hospital and Cameron curled sweetly into the corner of the sofa. Her feet were tucked beneath herself and she was dwarfed by House's Michigan sweatshirt because she'd claimed that all her warm sweaters were in the laundry. House looked over at her and stared for as long as he could before knowing he'd be caught. She wasn't moving in, but she was still right beside him, just an arm's length away, and he figured he could deal with that. He used the handle of his cane to hook her knee and get her attention and after a slight eye-roll, she slid over next to him and let him drape an arm over her shoulders.

"I was cold," was his explanation.

"Yes, I had a feeling you'd say that," she replied, but she didn't take the teasing any farther than the tone of her voice.

Later, when it was time for bed, House assumed his position leaning against the headboard while Cameron finished up in the bathroom. He was reading a medical journal when she padded into the room, and dropped her robe onto the chair in the corner. He didn't acknowledge her entrance, but when she got into bed, he noticed that he started to breathe deeper, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled the scent of her soap and lotion. A tiny smile at the fact that she had such an affect on him was hidden by the fall of her hair as she leaned forward under the pretense of straightening the covers.

House turned off his light soon after that, and Cameron did the same, scooting down until she was curled on her side facing him.

"So which one of us is going to tell Foreman and Chase that we're not fighting anymore? I think Foreman was getting ready to jump me in a darkened alley and Chase was moping around like his parents were going through a divorce." House was staring up at the ceiling as he spoke, voice rumbling in the darkness.

"I think they'll figure it out," Cameron said. "They're pretty bright."

House gave a not-very-subtle snort but then relented. "Yeah, I guess they have their good points."

"Are you very tired?" Cameron asked rather abruptly.

His brows drew together and he turned to look at her. The moonlight glancing off the planes of her face and the dark curtain of her hair gave her an ethereal look, and he found himself staring instead of speaking.

"I asked--"

"No," he answered quickly.

She smiled and leaned towards him.

"Good, because I think I want to finish what I started last night."

No, dealing with this situation would not be a problem.

* * *

They woke the same way they had on dozens and dozens of mornings, with House reaching for his Vicodin, and Cameron's soft hand brushing along his ribcage as she reached her arms above her head to stretch. He made the requisite snaky comment about keeping her hands to herself, and she answered back with a sarcastic remark about him not minding her hands the night before. Then Cameron rolled over and looked into House's already watchful eyes, and it suddenly felt different than every other morning, and it was obvious that they both felt that way as they just lay there quietly. It was as if they had passed through a fire and come out whole on the other side and each of them knew just how rare that was. 

"If we're late to work, I'm telling Cuddy it was your fault," House finally broke the silence and time, which had appeared to have stopped, ticked forward again.

"Who do you think she'll believe? You or me?" Cameron replied, falling back into their comfortable banter but knowing that there was something deeper than she could define flowing just beneath the surface.

"Yeah, but when have I ever been on time anyway?" he scoffed. The painkiller had kicked in, and he swung his legs out of bed. "Of course, we could solve this problem by showering together."

"Somehow I don't think that will save us time," she replied with a laugh.

"Only one way to find out," he said with a leer, and he was unsurprised when, two minutes later, the glass shower door opened and Cameron stepped inside to join him.

He was surprised when they actually ended up pulling into the hospital parking lot five minutes before nine. An hour late by Cameron's standards, but a good fifteen minutes early by his. They parted company as soon as they passed through the entrance, with Cameron going to Cuddy's office and House heading up to the department.

Naturally, House sniped at her to hurry and get upstairs before Foreman got hold of the coffee pot, but then he softened his words by lightly touching her hand as she turned towards the clinic. Changing their routine was definitely going to be strange, but they would manage.

While Cameron was filling out paperwork, House kept to himself in his office. There was a new patient on his way to PPTH from a hospital in Newark and he went over the file while giving occasional glances into the conference room where Chase and Foreman were reading the same file and shooting dirty looks at him when they thought he wasn't looking. He loved knowing that they were getting even more worked up. He could even tell that Foreman was about to march into his office. He was guessing that the younger doctor would demand to know where Cameron was.

Before that could happen, however, the woman in question walked into the conference room with a smile on her face and a cheerful greeting for her colleagues. House, twirling his cane and smirking, gave a peace sign to Foreman and then turned back to the patient file. He'd give Cameron a minute to gossip with them and start the coffee, and then he'd barge in and start in on the usual differential diagnosis.

In the conference room, Foreman rolled his eyes at House's actions and then turned to face Cameron.

"So I take it that you two have sorted things out?"

"That obvious?" Cameron asked as she poured the water into the coffee maker.

"Well you're smiling and House is being as obnoxious as ever. Yeah, it's pretty obvious."

"We should have figured it out as soon as we saw that House didn't have his blinds down," Chase said.

Cameron smirked at them. "I'm surprised he didn't just come in here and blurt out that we're fine and that you two should mind your own business."

"He probably would have, but I think he must have known he'd get more mileage out of keeping quiet," Chase replied. "Foreman was about ready to go give him a piece of his mind and ask if he'd chased you away from the hospital completely."

Foreman looked a little perturbed about Chase revealing his protectiveness, but Cameron gave him a smile and a grateful look.

"Well House does like to watch people's reactions to things," she said.

"So, the big question now is, are you still going to transfer to Immunology?" Foreman asked.

"Yes, those plans haven't changed," she said to the two men, who both looked disappointed in the answer. "That's why I'm late," she continued, "I had to meet with Dr. Cuddy to get the paperwork started."

"Well, at least you'll still be at the hospital," Chase commented.

"Yes, yes, isn't it great." The semi-sarcastic and completely strident tone of House's voice broke the somber atmosphere as he pushed through the connecting door and limped into the conference room. "Aren't you boys happy that mommy and daddy aren't fighting anymore? Oh, wait. Cameron's more like your sister, so that makes it…eww…" he made a disgusted face. "No, that doesn't work. We'll stick with mommy and daddy. Aren't you glad we aren't fighting anymore? Good. Now that's settled, howsabout we save this poor sap's life," he finished, waving the file in the air and hooking his cane over the top of the whiteboard as he started to write.

Foreman rolled his eyes again, and Chase got up to fix himself a cup of coffee without dignifying House with a response. Cameron just gave him a slightly exasperated look and handed him his red mug. Things wouldn't be the same for much longer, but at the moment, it was business as usual, and even if none of them would say so, it was a state they'd all come to enjoy.

* * *

One o'clock found House back in his office and twirling his cane again while he mulled over a diagnosis for the patient who was currently being pricked and prodded by Cameron and Chase while Foreman arranged for an MRI. Their initial guess had been incorrect, which wasn't too unusual, so they were back to the body for clues since they knew from experience that trusting in words alone was a mistake. He had just decided that they had all the symptoms for a good old fashioned case of Addison's disease when a knock at the door, or rather, the doorframe, pulled him from his latest trick of mental and digital dexterity. 

Wilson. And he had an annoyingly smug look on his face.

"Why do you look so happy?" House snapped peevishly.

"I don't know. Why do you look so happy?"

"This is my happy face?"

"You're twirling your cane, and I saw your reflection in the window. You looked relaxed and, dare I say it, content."

House made a face and a rude noise.

"See? Childish behavior. That's a sure sign that you're in a good mood. At least compared to last week."

"I'm sure you already talked to Cameron, and that's why you're up here gloating," House said, "so I trust you won't ask me to repeat what she's already told you."

"Actually, Cuddy's the one who let me know that you're safe to be around again. Although she found out from Cameron, so I guess that means she told me indirectly."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We sorted things out."

"You apologized," Wilson pressed, the grin on his face not faltering in the least.

"I think we can leave the details to your imagination," House replied. "And stop your thoughts before they get to the bedroom door," he continued with a mild glare.

Wilson flopped down onto House's corner chair and continued grinning.

"And get that stupid look off your face, unless you want me to call up for a psych consult."

"I can't help it. It's cute."

"There is nothing cute about me," House insisted vehemently. "Therefore, there is nothing cute about my relationship with Cameron."

"Ha!" Wilson pointed triumphantly. "See? You even called it a relationship."

That outburst earned him another scathing look from his best friend, and Wilson held up his hand in surrender.

"Fine, fine. You're right. It isn't actually cute. But you can't keep me from being happy for the two of you. I was beginning to worry."

"Well I'm happy that we've managed to make you feel better," House said sarcastically.

"Admit it, House. You're glad that you two made up."

"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be? Hot sex with someone way younger than me. That's nothing to sneer at." House's expression and tone were that of a horny college freshman.

"House," Wilson said, giving him a look of his own.

The roll of the eyes was a signal that House was admitting defeat. "Yeah, all right. I'm glad we worked things out."

"And I'm glad for you."

There was a serious look that passed between them, one of caring and deep understanding that they usually hid beneath layers of jocularity, sarcasm and male posturing. Then they both blinked and that line that always seemed to exist between even the closest of male friends, was redrawn.

"So did you just come up here to satisfy your gossip-loving heart, or did you have a real reason for disturbing me?"

"Actually, I did," Wilson answered, and his hesitation made House instantly suspicious.

"What?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Cuddy wanted me to go over these CVs with you," he said, indicating the sheaf of files he had in his hand.

"She's really going to make me interview again? Didn't the harassment suit from the last time teach her anything?"

"Actually, that woman didn't end up following through with her complaint," Wilson said in that voice of benign resignation which he often used with House.

"Well I guess I wasn't trying hard enough."

"You need an immunologist on your team."

House's expression was hard and he looked like he was about to spit out another biting remark, but instead he sighed and held out his hand.

"Lemme see 'em," he said, with his own tone of resignation settling in.

"Really? You're not going to put up a huge fight?" Wilson was incredulous.

"No point. Not this time," he said. "I do need an immunologist, and unfortunately for me, mine is moving on to greener hospital wards."

Wilson stood up and handed of the files, shaking his head as he did so.

"You know, I've always known you were a great doctor," he said. "Now it looks like you've finally grown into being a good man."

House let out a derisive snort. "Yeah, well don't let it get around. I've got a reputation to maintain."

The smile was back on Wilson's face and he headed for the door.

"Oh," House called after him, "and just because I'm good enough to agree to look over these files doesn't mean I'm not going to be my usual self during the interviews."

"Trust me, House, I wouldn't expect anything else, and neither would Cuddy. That's why she's got a special legal fund for you. Remember?" he gave his parting shot and walked out of the office without giving House a chance to lob another zinger at him.

* * *

In the next two weeks there were two snowstorms, three patients, nine immunologist interviews, seven sarcastic remarks, six witty comebacks, four Christmas stockings hung over the coffee maker, and countless subtle glances as the Diagnostics team pretended that they weren't counting down the time until Cameron's departure. There was surprisingly little drama, or perhaps it wasn't a surprise at all. House and Cameron had gone through enough already and were glad to let life resume its pleasant rhythm, while Foreman and Chase were just glad to have at least a couple of weeks where House was on an even keel… or at least even by his standards. 

House put off interviewing anyone until Wilson finally just started setting up the appointments and forcing House to attend. He couldn't tie him to the chair, but the threat of Cuddy doing the hiring was better than rope and handcuffs. Of course Wilson wasn't sure why he'd been so adamant about following protocol when House then proceeded to make him literally wince in his chair as he envisioned the heated letters which would soon be gracing Cuddy's desk.

Nine applicants, and House managed to insult all but two of them. There were several highlights, or lowlights, depending on perspective. One was when he told a pompous and obese man that he wasn't going to hire someone who could become his next patient by way of a massive coronary. Another came when a slender and very blonde woman spent half an hour detailing her fascinating career in medicine, complete with dramatic hand gesturing and tales of volunteer work in Africa and the inner city where she'd saved orphans and survived militant uprisings and gang wars. House told her that she must have gotten her directions wrong, because the auditions for General Hospital were in New York City, but if she hurried she might be able to make it and he'd look forward to watching her on television. Wilson preferred not to think about the two people House had driven to tears, one of them a man, or the one applicant who'd turned so red in the face that his head seemed about to explode.

In the end he'd reluctantly chosen a woman from San Francisco who had done her residency at Mount Sinai Hospital and then a stint at Brigham and Women's in Boston. Her name was Kimberly Parker, but that would be shortened to Parker soon enough, and was how he introduced her to the team on that final Friday before the switch. Chase and Foreman had been polite, and so had Cameron, although she'd been embarrassed to feel a small flame of jealously spring to life. This was the woman who would be replacing her. Who would be palling around with Foreman and rolling her eyes at Chase and probably remembering where the sugar was and sighing at House's antics and innuendo. The meeting had been brief, but Parker seemed to fit well, which only caused that little flame to flicker a bit more brightly.

She was down in the lab running her final tests for the Diagnostics department when House found her.

"We've had a lot of talks in here," he said as he limped into the dimly lit room and looked around at everything but Cameron. "Not all of them entirely appropriate."

This caused Cameron to turn around and smirk up at him. "I'd say less than half," she said, and followed it up with, "Think the same will be true with the new girl?" before she could stop herself.

House thumped forward until he was just in front of her. "Highly unlikely. She's cute, but her ass can't compare to yours, and I'm pretty sure that she bats for the other team. Poor Chase," he continued, not sounding the least bit sympathetic. "He's bound to hit on her, and that'll make him oh-for-two with immunologists."

Cameron's smirk had faltered and she was blushing. "I swear, I'm not really jealous," she said quickly.

"I know," House said blandly. "You just don't really like change any more than I do."

Shrugging her shoulders, the white lab coat shifting over her wool sweater, she had to agree. "No, not really."

He tapped her foot with his cane and stared down into her eyes unblinkingly. "Luckily, some things will be staying the same."

A little smile reappeared on her face. "Yeah. That's pretty lucky."

The look that passed between them didn't need any more words to carry it, and then House nodded and turned away, limping back towards the door.

"You gonna be done any time soon? Our patient's already on the road to recovery, so you probably don't need to kill yourself running redundant tests."

"I know, but it's--" she stopped herself from continuing, knowing how incredibly sappy it would sound to say that it was the last time she'd be running tests for him… at least as his employee.

House glanced back over his shoulder. He knew what she'd been about to say and a very sarcastic comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. The fact that he was at his most sarcastic when what he was really feeling was emotional or overwhelmed had been pointed out to him several times, mostly by Wilson. He continued to deny it, but his eyes softened as they found Cameron's, wide and deep, and filled with the expression of a student on graduation day who knows it's the end of an era, despite the fact that what's to come will be even better.

"Right," he said, voice that of the stern boss again, "I need those tests, so snap to it." Cameron's smile almost undid him and he quickly turned his head around. "I'll be waiting in my office, and I hear there's going to be lots of booze and Chinese food there in honor of some fool who's decided to leave the department." Chase and Foreman had insisted on the impromptu farewell, over House's loud objections. He would have preferred to keep up the illusion that nothing was changing for at least one more night.

"I'll be up in a few minutes," she told him. "Try not to eat all the crab rangoons."

"No promises, but I'll see what I can do," House replied, and he pushed the door open and left her there to finish her job.

* * *

Later, there would be beer and scotch and too much fried rice and House trying not to act too friendly, but Foreman and Chase knowing that just because House had his guard down for a couple of hours didn't mean he'd be any different on Monday. In fact, they were expecting him to be much worse for at least a month. Cameron would laugh at memories of clinic patients and their own patients, and she would get a little misty-eyed when mention was made of some of the ones they'd lost.

The cardboard boxes would be emptied and paper plates scattered across the conference room table and Wilson would stop by for a beer and to wish Cameron good luck, as if she was going across the ocean instead of just a couple of floors up. He would be the first to leave, and then Chase would go and Foreman soon after, until it was just House and Cameron, with him telling her that it figured they'd leave the clean-up to her. She'd just grin, because she was actually happy that they'd cared enough to do anything, even though part of it was probably because they could expense it to the hosptial. House would call her a sap, and mean it, but she'd keep grinning because she didn't usually drink and three beers went straight to her head.

She'd straighten her desk for the last time and gather her personal things into the bag she usually kept a spare set of clothes in. House would tell her to hurry up and he'd turn off the light in his office and grab his battered messenger bag. Cameron would pass through the connecting door and tell him she was ready to go, and then House would do something he'd never thought he'd do. He'd grab her around the waist and kiss her hard, mouth slanting against hers to get more coverage, and tongue sweeping across her lips until she gasped and let him in and started her own exploration.

They'd both be breathing heavily when they pulled apart and then House would say, "I can do that here now. You don't work for me anymore."

Cameron would just smile, and they would walk out of the office and out of the hospital and get into House's Corvette and speed all the way to the townhouse.

* * *


	20. Chapter 19

My usual note: Very happy that you are all happy with the way things are working out for House and Cameron in this story. Thank you for your continued support... your reviews always put a huge grin on my face. This part, in particular, I am curious to see opinions of as we fully begin the next little arc in this story.

**IMPORTANT NOTE : Just like last time, I ended up writing more for the previous chapter. However, I decided to just update it and not include it here. SO, you will want to reread the previous chapter. I have added about two pages to the end. Thank you, and I apologize for the inconvenience. I won't let that happen again.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 19**

Friday ended with hot sex, and Saturday started with tender lovemaking, so House wasn't feeling too neglected when Cameron announced, over coffee in the kitchen, that she was going out to get her hair done and grab some things from her apartment and probably wouldn't be back until later in the afternoon.

He wasn't stupid either.

With only one week until Christmas, he was fairly certain that she was planning on fitting some shopping in there somewhere between her hair and her home. He considered the fact that it would probably be a good idea for him to visit a few stores himself. However, the thought of the Saturday crowds quickly changed his mind. He'd picked up a couple of random things already and he'd do the rest sometime during the week. Anyway, she knew who she was dating so she probably wasn't expecting much in the way of presents.

"Do you need anything while I'm out?" Cameron asked half an hour later as she was getting ready to leave.

"I've got wrestling cued up on the tivo and beer and chips in the kitchen. I should be fine," House told her. "Besides," he continued slyly, "I wouldn't want you to have to deal with the huddled unwashed masses that are bound to be roaming the stores in full force today."

Cameron spent extra time wrapping her scarf around her neck so that she could avoid looking at him. "Yeah, right. Good point," she said, sounding vaguely guilty, and House gave himself a pat on the back for knowing her so well.

Midway through the first match, and House wasn't quite so pleased with his powers of deduction. They'd led him to start wondering what exactly Cameron was planning on buying him for Christmas. It was a childish train of thought, and one he hadn't indulged in since he was fifteen and hoping for a Fender electric guitar. He wasn't hoping for anything specific this year, but he still had the insatiable desire to find out what Cameron was shopping for.

He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Wilson, did Cameron talk to you about anything particular yesterday?"

"Oh, Jesus, what now? Didn't you two just make up?"

House scowled and shot back with, "For a Jew, you sure are chummy with Christ." He could almost see Wilson rolling his eyes.

"It's a figure of speech. Now what's up with you and Cameron? And it had better be fixed by next Friday. Julie wants to have you two over for Hanukkah."

"Cameron and I are fine, and here people think I'm the cynical one," House said, "Now what did you and she chat about last week?"

"Why don't you tell me what you're expecting to hear and then I can give you what you want," Wilson said sarcastically.

"Cameron's out shopping today."

The chuckle from the other end of the phone was unmistakable although it sounded like Wilson had tried to muffle it.

"Oh shut up," House muttered.

"Sorry," Wilson replied, not sounding sorry at all. "But to answer your question, Cameron didn't pump me for any information about what to buy you for Christmas."

House made a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. "Figures."

"Should I even bother asking what you're getting her?"

"No."

"But you're getting her something, right?"

The faces House was making were really wasted since there was no one there to see them, but they were a part of his character and stopping the muscles from moving would have been nearly impossible.

"Yes, I'm getting her something," he said in that particular tone that children use when their mother asks if they've finished cleaning their room and they've just barely started.

"Good, because I've got enough trouble deciding what to get Julie without having to be your designated shopper."

"Considering the number of marriages you've been through, I don't think I'd rely on your taste."

"Nice," Wilson said dryly although he knew House didn't mean anything.

"Wanna come watch wrestling?" House said, by way of a peace offering.

"Julie's been trying to rope me into putting blue candles in all the windows. I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes."

* * *

Four hours later and Wilson was gone, but the empty bags of chips and four beer bottles remained scattered around the living room. Fortunately, Cameron was in too big a rush to get through the living area and into the spare bedroom to notice or comment. House's eyebrows went up as she hurried through with a gym bag that looked fuller than usual and a shopping bag she'd attempted to hide by draping her coat over that arm. 

"Whatcha got there?" he shouted, after her bustling form.

"Nothing, just some extra clothes from my place, that's all," she shouted back.

"Then why aren't you putting them in the bedroom?" He levered himself up from the sofa and followed her steps down the hall.

"You're always telling me I take up too much space in the closet," she were the words that rolled off her tongue as she met him at the entry to the spare room, and pulled the door closed behind her back.

"Ah, so you're finally listening to me about that?" he said, and then shook his head and gave her a teasingly devilish look. "I don't think so," he answered his own question and reached for the doorknob.

"House," she said, a mixture of pleading and stern, knowing that he was on to her.

He let out an aggrieved sigh. "You're no fun any more."

"That's not what you said this morning," she retorted. "Now come on outside. There's something you can help me with."

The little gleam in her eyes caused him to narrow his as he followed her and grabbed his coat on the way out the front door. He saw what she was referring to as soon as he was outside. Tied to the roof of her car was a tree and she had run down the steps and was now standing next to it looking much like a child who had just brought home a stray cat.

"If I wanted my house to stink of pine, I'd buy a few dozen of those damn car air fresheners and make a mobile above the piano."

Her mouth twisted into a pout. She'd been very unsure about buying a tree, and he wasn't helping her feel any better about her decision. But she'd wanted a tree. She'd wanted to make a fire in the fireplace and play Christmas records and decorate it, and she'd wanted it to be where she could see it every day. The doubtful expression on her face apparently made an impression on House and he limped down the steps and glared up at the tree before casting his gaze on her.

"Figures you'd get the biggest one you could find. I'm a cripple, remember?"

"It's not that big," she assured him. "Really. Just a little over five feet. And I can carry it. I just need you to reach up and untie it and then hold the door open for me."

Well, with a pathetic entreaty like that, there was obviously no way he could turn her down. He reached up and started undoing knots that looked like they'd been tied by boy scouts in search of new merit badges. When Cameron sneaked up behind him and stood on her tiptoes, he felt her warm breath brush across his neck, and then her lips touching the same spot a second later.

"Thanks," was all she said, and he pulled the last knot free and yanked the tree off the roof to land in a soft snow bank beside the car.

After helping get the tree inside, House thought that Cameron would be gung-ho to start transforming his perfectly neutral townhouse into Christmas-town USA. She patiently explained, after hauling a couple of dusty boxes from her car to the living room, that the tree needed to settle before she could decorate it. She wrestled it into the battered metal stand that came from one of the boxes, only enlisting his help to tell her if it was straight or not from his vantage point on the sofa.

She'd positioned it in the crook of the piano and House thought the whole area now looked like something out of a greeting card, even without ornaments involved. He was half-tempted to tell her that it was straight when it was still leaning dangerously to the right, but stifled the instinct. When she stood up, hair completely disheveled from being caught on low slung branches, and brushing her sap-sticky fingers on her jeans, he didn't regret his decision. Her eyes were almost glowing.

"I'll make dinner," she told him, as she pushed the boxes into the corner for the time being, "but I'm not picking up after you and Wilson.

Her pointed stare was directed at the bottles and a bag which was shoved between two sofa cushions.

"Slave driver," House replied, "and in my own home."

"Next time, make Wilson help you clean before he leaves," she countered, walking towards the kitchen.

"He comes here so he can get out of cleaning," House replied, "and how come you're so sure Wilson was over here?"

"Because even you aren't a big enough pig to drink four beers and eat two bags of chips and a can of mixed nuts," she said.

"I could have other friends."

"You could, but you don't," she said cheekily. "I'm also guessing that you figured out that I was Christmas shopping soon after I left, and then tried to pump Wilson for clues about what I'm getting you."

"So, you making macaroni and cheese or chicken alfredo?" House called out, changing the subject and teasing her at the same time.

"I can make more than two things."

"You could, but you don't," he said as he walked into the kitchen. He'd shoved all of the bottles inside one of the crumpled bags and it made a dull clinking noise as it hit the bottom of the trashcan.

She just smirked at him and pulled chicken, cheese and cream out of the refrigerator.

That evening was spent peacefully, and similarly to every other Saturday night, which, given the way things were changing at the hospital, was exactly what they needed. There was an old James Dean movie on television and Cameron fell asleep with her head pillowed on the sofa armrest, and her feet poking into House's hip. Apparently he didn't mind, because he let her sleep, using the time during commercials to study the way one dark lock of hair dipped low over her forehead, and the childlike way she had her hands tucked beneath her cheek. To cover up his sentimental gazing, he prodded her with his cane to wake her when the movie credits started to roll.

Her grunt and dismissive hand gesture made him tap her again, rubber tip nudging her slim thigh.

"Quit poking me," she muttered, blinking back to wakefulness.

He grinned lecherously. "You didn't mind me poking you this morning," he remarked.

She blinked a few more times and stared up at him in playful exasperation. "It's amazing you have room for medicine in that gutter mind."

"You love my mind, gutter and all," he replied. "Now come to bed. I don't want to have to warm it up by myself, and I don't want you coming in an hour from now and waking me up from my dreams of Angelina Jolie.

The loose strand of hair was still falling in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear and propped herself up. "So what do I have to do to replace her in your dreams, anyway?"

"Easy. Wear short shorts and a skin-tight t-shirt to work and start carrying more weapons. Flame throwers are very sexy."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said dryly and was moderately surprised when he reached down to give her a hand up.

"So who do you dream of anyway? That sissy Colin Firth, I bet. I saw you staring at him when you forced me to watch _Bridget Jones's Diary_."

"First of all, I didn't force you to watch it. You were supposed to be at Wilson's house watching baseball. Secondly, I don't really remember most of my dreams. Not the good ones, anyway," she corrected herself with a shrug. "They don't wake me up so I just keep sleeping and forget them."

"You're just afraid I'll be jealous of that British pretty-boy," House said, carrying on although he was now just doing so to tease her.

"Well you do have a pretty delicate ego," she shot back.

Her comment was well-played and he raised one eyebrow in a non-verbal 'touché'.

"You're not threatened by Angelina, I suppose," he said, hooking his cane around her side and pulling her closer."

"I'm pretty sure she's not planning on stopping by Princeton any time soon, so I think I'm safe."

"Good point," he ceded, then pulled her a fraction closer. "But you know I'd probably chose you over her anyway."

"Oh really?" She could feel his hot breath against her face and knew that hers was tickling through his stubble.

"I've got a thing for smart chicks, and her lips are starting to scare me," he answered, voice low and rumbling from his chest.

"Mine don't eh?"

"Not so far. Although a clinical test might be the way to go."

He bent his head and they joined together in a kiss that was hot and seductive but familiar and soothing at the same time. Cameron rested her head against his chest when they pulled apart, and then tilted her head upwards.

"I think I'm ready for bed now," she told him with a smile, and he followed her down the hall to the bedroom, turning off the lights in his wake.

They didn't end up actually having sex that night. There was touching and kissing and an unmistakably sexual connection, but they were both tired and House was sore from their morning bedroom activities, although he wouldn't admit it, and it was enough to just be together and fall asleep beside one another. Theirs wasn't new love where the sex is almost a need, exploring and learning one another, and it wasn't troubled love where the sex is like a challenge, a way to prove that things are still working. When House rolled over in his sleep, and his hand brushed against Cameron's wrist, he instinctively grabbed on and held it gently within his grasp. That action wasn't better than sex, but in the end it meant more.

* * *

House woke in the morning to an empty bed, and for just an instant, he felt an irrational fear that he'd dreamt the past two weeks. He'd had a similar experience early on in their relationship, and he hadn't enjoyed it then either. He rolled over and inhaled the scent of coconut and verbena and was reassured. A clattering sound from the kitchen was another confirmation that Cameron was indeed in the house, and he grabbed for his pills, took one, and forced himself to his feet, limping more heavily than usual as he headed out of the bedroom. 

"You're up early," he said, sounding grumpy and shuffling into the kitchen.

"It's almost ten," Cameron replied, ignoring his mood. "I made breakfast."

He grunted in response and pulled a mug out of the cabinet. "Dinner last night, and breakfast this morning. You want something."

She looked over at him with a smile that made her eyes twinkle. He scowled as he caught sight of the tree in the living room.

"I'm not helping with that tree of yours," he said adamantly.

"I'm not asking you to," she said.

The bacon she was cooking smelled wonderful and she scooped it up and divided it between two plates. She didn't say anything else while she cracked eggs into a bowl, added cream and seasoned salt and pepper, and whisked them all together before pouring them into the still-hot skillet. House watched her sprinkle shredded cheese and diced tomato and became more suspicious the longer her silence lasted. He sat down at the table and waited for her to bring their plates over. As soon as she sat down, he broke the silence himself.

"If it's not the tree, then what is it?" he asked, eyebrows a straight line across his forehead.

"Nothing. Really. I'm just in a good mood. Now eat your eggs and then we can make a nice fire. You can sit on the sofa all day for all I care, and I'll handle everything else."

House's suspicious nature wouldn't let go, but with a choice between interrogating her and eating, he was forced into a difficult decision and started shoveling forkfuls of eggs into his mouth.

By noon-time, he realized that Cameron really had no ulterior motive. She was just in an especially good mood because of the tree. It was a sentimental, ultimately useless and transitory object, but apparently she didn't see it that way. She was even humming under her breath as she untangled an approximately two mile long string of lights. He had the television tuned to the football game between the Patriots and the Giants. The Pats were currently up one touchdown and he turned the volume lower and thrust his arm towards Cameron and the tree.

"Give me the damn thing before you make it worse," he said, maintaining his cantankerous demeanor.

"I thought you didn't want to be involved."

"Yeah, well I don't want you electrocuting yourself either. Then I'd actually have to get up and resuscitate you. At least this way I can stay in my seat."

"Oh, my hero," she said with an appropriate amount of sarcasm, but she rose from her cross-legged position between the tree and the fireplace and handed the lights to him.

She quickly returned to her place and started rummaging through the boxes for tinsel and ornaments, while hiding her pleased smile. She wasn't the least bit surprised that House had decided to involve himself after all. That was just his way. Disinterest, followed by actions that showed that even if he was still disinterested himself, he understood her and wanted to be involved. He'd done the same thing with the visit to her parents' over Thanksgiving. He didn't want to give the impression of caring, because caring meant that something outside his control was capable of affecting him, and he'd spent years assuring everyone that he only cared about two things: himself and solving the puzzle of the patient of the week. He'd spent so long convincing everyone else of those two facts that until a little less than a year ago, he'd been nearly successful at convincing himself.

Their relationship, awkward, flawed and completely dysfunctional at first, had grown past what either of them had expected. Cameron had never lied to herself about a happily-ever-after ending for them, and had been just as surprised as he when weeks had turned into months and tentative overtures had turned into a comfortable companionship that she had difficulty imagining the loss of. She'd suspected that he felt the same, but their fight, although painful, had actually confirmed it. House's brief return to his old stereotypical nastiness, followed his casually authoritative attitude, had sprung from fears that change would pull them apart, and he didn't want that any more than she did.

She stacked boxes of ornaments beside her and thought about where she'd bought them and when. The most recent was seven years old; the last year she'd put up a tree until now. House had mocked her for decorating the office, but decorating her apartment had only reminded her how alone she was. Maybe that was why this tree was so special to her. It was another corner turned, another milestone passed that she'd previously given up on getting within reach of. Silent Night came unbidden from her lips and a sweet smile turned them up at the corners.

"All right, here they are," House said as he tossed the string of lights to the end of the sofa nearest to Cameron. "Try not to get them all knotted up again, because I'm not doing that again."

"Thanks," she replied, getting up to retrieve them.

House's eyes followed her as she went back to her task of unpacking, and he noticed how dusty and untouched the boxes looked.

"Are you even sure they're up to code? I don't want you burning the place down, and it looks like those boxes haven't seen the light of day in ten years," he said.

"Seven, actually," Cameron said, without missing a beat. House was working another puzzle in his mind and she didn't mind that she was the source of it.

"Oh," was all House said.

He hadn't really expected that as a reply. He wasn't sure what he'd expected and his face worked itself into three expressions at once: curiosity, surprise and concern. Cameron didn't say anything else, and after a few minutes House had gathered in his thoughts.

"So," he said, "why, after a seven year lull, aren't you decorating your own place instead of mine?"

The sounds from the television were still audible, and the crackling, popping sounds from the fire could still be heard, but Cameron kept silent with her head bowed over a half empty box. House concentrated on the top of her head as if he could gain some information from it, and he was still staring when she looked up at him and shrugged, her face open and honest as he'd ever seen it.

"I guess I'd rather decorate the place I consider home," she told him.

He was taken aback by her answer but didn't let the emotion move to his face. "What happened to needing time and space and for me not to be an overbearing ass?" he asked, tempering his sarcasm with genuine confusion.

"I guess I was closer to being ready than I thought," she replied, feeling a beautiful peacefulness settle over her as she spoke, as if finally speaking her decision had relieved her of cares she'd barely been aware of.

House stood up abruptly and Cameron was startled as his uneven gait carried him from the room.

"Where are you going?" she called after him, rising up on her knees to watch him go and then standing and starting to follow after him.

"Just stay there," he called back gruffly, and she sank onto the sofa feeling trepidation spin through her body.

She didn't have long to wonder what was going on, because he was back in less than thirty seconds, and he sat back on the sofa and dangled a plastic bag from his left hand.

"Early Christmas present," he announced.

Her expression was one of puzzlement and she took the small bag and tipped it over to spill the contents onto her lap.

"Maybe now you can finally keep all your keys together on that one," he said.

"That's it?" she asked, shaking her head, shocked that after her initial refusal, he would so easily receive her acceptance now.

"You know I'm not the sentimental type," he said, dodging the question.

Cameron picked up the small key ring, and fingered the brass caduceus charm.

"This is more than sentimental enough for me," she said, blinking fast to hide the dampness in her eyes.

"Good, because there's a naked tree in the living room and I didn't just spend half an hour untangling lights to watch them blinking on the floor." His air of nonchalance was so obviously a cover that it was almost an 'I love you' without the words.

"I'll get right on that," Cameron said, with her own tone of acerbic tenderness, but then she slid closer to House and pressed her hand against his chest, with the keychain still looped around her index finger and nestled in her palm. "Thank you," she whispered, embarrassed to find her throat suddenly tight.

He looked her straight in the eye and let his hand curl around her neck, fingertips playing in the soft hair at the base of her skull. He stayed like that for several long moments with the fire sending out sparks in front of them and the scent of pine heavy in the air. He finally released his hold and gave her a tiny shove.

"That tree's not gonna decorate itself," he said. "Get busy."

But his voice wasn't quite at its usual snarky pitch, and Cameron grinned as she tucked her present into her back pocket and headed back to her ornaments and lights. House turned his attention back to the football game, and clicked the volume up just enough that he could hear it without completely drowning out the quietly performed carols coming from his right.


	21. Chapter 20

Moving and New Year's Eve, and after this, you can expect a bit of a time lapse in the story as I pull them towards springtime :) I did some revisions in my outline and actually think that I will be wrapping it up in two more chapters, rather than four... something which I'm sure will relieve some of you!

I hope you're still enjoying this... I know it's not quite as action-packed as the beginning but I do think that the progression of the relationship is continuing at what I hope is a realistic pace, which is really the most important thing to me as far as this story is concerned. I wanted to show a deepening relationship between them, and hopefully I'm accomplishing that. Thanks, as always, for reading!

**Chapter 20**

Foreman and Chase were absolutely right about their guess that House would be even more irascible than usual with Cameron gone. By ten am, Monday morning, he'd already insulted them all, spit out the coffee that Chase had made and retreated to his office, his iPod and his Gameboy.

When they got a patient, he perked up enough to speed through a diagnostic session, but the sarcastic comments remained at an all-time high. He probably didn't even realize it, but he reserved his most biting remarks for Parker. She stood up well under the barrage of put-downs, but when he limp-marched out of the room, her expression turned to one of stunned silence, as if she couldn't believe what she'd signed up for. The interview had given her a good taste of his mostly lacking bedside manner, but this was much worse than she'd expected.

Foreman had to pull her aside and explain that the woman she was replacing was also House's girlfriend. The news that he could manage to keep a girlfriend was another minor shock, but after that revelation she started to roll with the punches. By noon the following day, she was throwing borderline-snarky remarks back at him.

House avoided the office more than usual that week. It was too strange to walk in and see someone else at Cameron's desk, or hear a feminine voice that didn't belong to her. He paced the halls instead, and frequently found himself up a few flights in the well-ordered and brightly lit Immunology department. They had more doctors up there, and an actual lounge with comfortable furniture and a small television. The also suddenly had the best coffee in the hospital. He brought his own red mug.

The other doctors got used to his presence, although they weren't thrilled with the fact that he liked to commandeer the television at three pm every afternoon. He made a point of always having some pertinent question to ask Cameron when he made an appearance, and although she of course knew that it was a ruse, she always answered as if giving it her full attention. She even sat through half of an episode of General Hospital while she ate a late lunch.

Half an hour was just about all the free time Cameron could manage as she started her new position. The Immunology department, unlike Diagnostics, was a full ward with upwards of ten or fifteen people at any given time. Just as in a normal practice, there were people who were referred to doctors in the department by their primary care physicians and so she also took over as the primary immunologist for a number of out-patients.

She wasn't sure if seeing more patients was better or worse for her emotionally. It was pointless to argue the fact that she tended to get attached to her patients, and having a lot more of them seemed, at face value, to be a recipe for her to either harden her heart or have a nervous breakdown. She'd considered that before taking the position and had reasoned that having serious one-on-one time with a patient for a week or more led to more of a connection than seeing multiple patients for just an hour every month or so. That didn't take into consideration the in-patients, but with more doctors on staff, and rotating schedules, she actually felt less overwhelmed in her new job. It was challenging, but the challenges were less life-and-death and more cerebral, and she enjoyed that tremendously. She also had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before House called for a guest Immunologist in his department, so she had decided, by Wednesday, that she had the best of both worlds.

The best of both worlds, however, didn't come without a price. Her schedule was more regular than it had been in the feast or famine world of diagnostics, but it also had her on call more often... twice, just that first week because two of the other doctors had arranged to have the week off for Christmas vacation. The first night she wandered into the townhouse after a one am emergency call, she expected to hear about it from House.

He surprised her by just grunting what sounded like "welcome back" and flinging the covers back for her to crawl between them.

In retrospect, switching departments the week before Christmas was not the wisest idea. Immunology was usually busy and the absence of two doctors didn't help the situation. Meanwhile, the Diagnostics department had one troublesome patient that turned into three troublesome patients when the child they were treating to start with was joined by both her parents.

Cameron had intended to finish her Christmas shopping in the evenings, and she did, but it didn't make much difference because on Saturday, Christmas Eve, House was paged back to the hospital because all three of his patients were declining. Any other year, he wouldn't have cared. Half the time he worked Christmas in return for hours off his clinic duty obligation. This year was different, but as he was driving into work, the feeling in his chest was not disappointment, but relief. He'd left Cameron sitting on the sofa after telling her to keep the tree plugged in.

Christmas had attached to it so much in the way of expectations. Expectations that House didn't know how to meet or if he even wanted to try to meet. Cameron had done her part with the tree and smaller decorations around the townhouse, with a cheerful smile as carols played on the radio on the way to and from the hospital, and with tired but satisfied looks as she tried to smuggle shopping bags under her coat. As usual, she was playing out the part of the normal member of their relationship, while he stumbled along in her wake. He was looking forward to the time when he could enjoy Cameron without the pressure of holiday perfection hanging over him.

Foreman was out of town visiting his family, so House, Chase and Parker worked to diagnose and cure the little family that occupied every bed in their department. They kept busy enough that for several hours, House didn't have time to think about the woman eating cut-out cookies back at his house. When the family were all in various wings getting different tests, that was when he collapsed into his lounge chair, and that was when he started wishing he was back in front of that fireplace. Expectations or not.

"About time you showed up."

House swiveled in his chair and saw the woman he'd been thinking of standing in his doorway. She was dressed in jeans and a red sweater instead of the pajamas and robe he'd last seen her in, and her hair was loose around her face.

"What are you doing here?" Not the most enthusiastic greeting he could have given.

"Turns out Christmas Eve isn't as much fun alone," she said, as she walked into the office, easy natural flow to her gait. She perched on the edge of his desk and faced him. "I'd decided I wasn't going to spend another one that way," she told him.

He looked a little surprised by her response but nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pills. "Well," he said, after swallowing, "it just so happens that my department is down one doctor. Looks like I get to steal one from Immunology for a change, instead of the other way around." He used his cane to help himself to his feet and motioned to her with his left hand. "So grab a chart and I'll fill you in on the way down to the lab."

It was an entirely unorthodox Christmas, from beginning to end. House ended up sleeping in his chair, and Cameron grabbed a few hours on the sofa in Immunology, and they muttered 'Merry Christmas' to each other over coffee as they walked to the room that held their patients. All day they spent at the hospital, trying a cocktail of drugs to try to combat an elusive opponent. They knew it had to be bacterial, but that didn't narrow it down very much, and the strong drugs they wanted to use caused as many symptoms as they cured. It wasn't until evening that they had all of them starting to recover, even the little girl who had been sick for the longest and had ended up in a chemically induced coma.

Cameron left her car at the hospital and House sped them through the nearly empty streets at eight thirty-nine Christmas night. With most of the college students back at their homes, and most of the rest of the town population enjoying their presents, it was a very quick drive. House pulled up in front of the townhouse and looked up, seeing the tree in his front window, sparkling with tiny white lights and throwing shadows onto the snow banks beside his door.

"What are you trying to do, burn the place down?" he asked as he got out of the car.

"You said leave it plugged in," she said as she circled to his side and slipped her gloved hand into his without thinking.

He glanced down at her and then back at the tree. "It's nice," he said shortly, and tugged on her hand to pull her towards the steps.

"I suppose you want your presents right now," Cameron teased as they stripped off their coats.

"What I want," he said, " is to crawl into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours." He looked at her with a smirk. "But I suppose you have Christmas all scripted out and we've already missed the first two acts."

"Actually, I think bed sounds like a good idea. Postponing Christmas can be our new tradition."

"It's weird. I like it," House said with a humorously thoughtful look on his face

Cameron smiled and met his pale blue gaze, feeling as if she'd heard such words under much different circumstances. "Kinda like us. Is that what you're thinking?"

"Something like that," he replied, wondering why he'd ever been afraid of what she would expect from him when she'd never given him reason to be. "Now come on. I can give you at least one present tonight."

The look in his eyes made her heart quicken and she started down the hallway, with her hips swaying from side to side, knowing that he was watching her. "I bet I have one to give you that's the perfect match," she said coyly, and he ended up almost beating her to the bedroom.

It was the best Christmas in recent memory for both of them.

* * *

James Wilson was in pain as he walked the halls of the hospital. The right heel of his brand new, very expensive shoes was just tight enough to pinch and he knew that by the end of the day he'd have a blister there. He knew he should have worn them around the house first, but unfortunately for him, gratitude had won out over common sense.

"Let me guess. Julie bought those for you for Hanukkah."

Wilson was currently leaning against the clinic nurses' station and filling in a chart, but he glanced over his shoulder at House who was approaching from the elevators.

"Good eye," he said, grumpy from the niggling pain.

"Well you may want to slip into something more comfortable," House said, limping up beside him and grabbing a candy cane from a vase of them tempting him from the counter. "I need you this Saturday, and it involves walking."

"Do I even want to know what for? And how was Christmas, anyway? Cuddy said that you and Cameron were here all day." He turned and gave House his full attention, grinning a bit when he spotted a new accessory around House's neck. "Looks like Cameron has good taste in electronics," he commented, motioning to the black iPod nano peeking from House's partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Christmas was fine," House told him, brief as always when the details wouldn't directly help him. "Cameron's moving in, and Saturday's the day," he continued, with a similar lack of explanation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. I thought she wanted to wait," Wilson looked appropriately confused.

"She did. Then she made up her mind and decided to take the plunge."

"When did all this happen?" Wilson was exasperated but actually not too surprised that House hadn't shared the new situation to him earlier.

House rolled his eyes. "Last weekend. Then yesterday, she decided that she really wanted to make it official before the end of the year. That leads us to Saturday. Satisfied? Now are you gonna help or do I need to turn Hal in accounting into my new best friend forever?"

"It's Paul," Wilson corrected dryly, "and I guess I have to be," he went on, again, not particularly shocked by House's actions. Everything with House had always been on a need-to-know basis, and the fact that that trend was continuing was more reassuring than anything else. He probably would have had a stroke if the man had suddenly started baring his soul on a daily basis and without a specific need.

"Good. She's boxing everything up this week. Hopefully it won't be more than a few trips."

"What about all her furniture? Will it even fit in your place or is she sending it to storage?"

"She's leaving most of it at the apartment. She's still got another year left on her lease so she's going to try to find some starving grad student to sublet it from her, furnished."

"And she expects to get her stuff back in the same condition?" Wilson asked, eyebrows raised.

"Apparently dating me hasn't diminished her unfailing faith in humanity after all," House said sardonically.

Wilson chuckled and grabbed another chart from the rack. "Well give her time," he joked.

"Har. Har," was House's clearly unamused reply, and Wilson still had a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to go call for his next patient.

* * *

The usual morning crowd at the cafeteria had thinned, and only a few groups of people sat around the artfully arranged and lighted tables that tried to make them believe they were in a bistro instead of a hospital. Relatives of critical patients were easy to spot, huddled over coffee and speaking to one another in quiet tones. Family and friends of the less seriously ill appeared more relaxed, and those who were there for births were antsy but cheerful. Regardless of their reason for being there, the majority of visitors stuck to the central tables, while the doctors preferred to congregate along the edges, rarely sitting down, and nearly always with one hand on their pagers.

Foreman was there, buying a muffin and coffee since he'd given up on brewing it up in the diagnostics department. He spotted Cameron standing near one of the potted plants, and talking to one of her new colleagues. She looked happy and at ease as she took a file from the man and gave a little wave before heading towards the exit. Foreman gave a little half-jogging step and hurried to catch up to her.

"Hey, Cameron, hold up," he said from five paces behind her.

She stopped and turned, smiling when she saw who was calling her.

"What's up? How was your Christmas?" she asked.

"It was good," he replied, "but I heard you pretty much missed it completely. Sorry I wasn't here to help."

Her little shrug was an expected reply from someone who rarely complained about her workload even when she had a right to. "We had our little Christmas yesterday instead," she told him. "Lots of spiked eggnog, a fire in the fireplace and The Rolling Stones for background music," she joked, but was telling the truth. It had been a strange but happy day, and she wouldn't have traded it for a more traditional celebration.

"Glad it was all it could be," Foreman said with an amused look in his eye. He suppressed a sly smile when the overhead lights glinted off of a bit of jewelry nestled at the top of her breastbone. He didn't have to be particularly fashion conscious to remember that Cameron only ever wore one of two necklaces, and this one wasn't either of them, and he knew enough about diamonds to recognize an expensive one. He thought about mentioning it, but held off, not wanting to embarrass her. Embarrassing House, however, was another ballgame entirely, and he looked forward to bringing up his good taste in fine gems.

"I was actually going to come find you later," Cameron said as they walked out of he cafeteria together. "I need your help this Saturday."

"Well it can't be clinic duty since it's closed on the weekend," he replied.

They were stopped in front of the elevators and Cameron looked up at him with a sort of half-hesitant, half-critical expression. "No comments, right?"

His eyebrows drew together and he shrugged. "Okay… no comments. What's up?" His eyes flashed quickly to her hand. Nope. No ring, so it wasn't that.

"I'm moving in with House and we're going to need some help. I think he was going to hit up Wilson, but another warm body would definitely be useful."

He stared at her, searching her eyes, and catching the way certain lines had disappeared from her face and the self-confident way she was holding herself. She let out a surprised breath of air when he pulled her into a hug right there in the hallway, and she was still looking a little confused when he released her a few seconds later.

"I'm happy for you, Cam, and I'll be there. But I expect some beer and pizza at the end of the day."

The elevator arrived and the two of them waited while people got off. As they walked on and turned back around to face forward, Cameron flashed him a brilliant smile.

"I sort of figured that would be the cost," she said, and then nudged him with her elbow. "And thanks."

He raised one eyebrow in a deferential sign. "You are more than welcome." The elevator doors closed and he pushed the buttons for both their floors. "But I reserve the right to rag on House for being an old romantic."

Cameron rolled her eyes and grinned. "Be my guest. You're the one who still has to work with him."

* * *

There were collapsed boxes wedged behind the coat rack, waiting to be taken out to the garbage. There were boxes that still needed to be unpacked, stacked in the guestroom. In the corner of House's bedroom there now sat a simple vanity table with matching chair. His kitchen table and chairs had been replaced by a nicer and slightly larger set, and the living room shelves were now host to a collection of shells and vases and pottery that looked surprisingly at home amongst his eclectic antique medical instruments and haphazardly arranged books.

What looked even more at home was the couple lounging on the sofa, champagne glasses filled for the second time, awaiting the drop of a giant tacky crystal ball.

The move had gone surprisingly well, and with a minimum of yelling. Naturally some yelling was to be expected since House had been involved. He hadn't helped at Cameron's apartment, because going up and down the stairs would have been masochistic even for him. Instead he'd held down the home fort, directing Foreman and Wilson as they carried in boxes, and pinching Cameron's ass when she bent over to lift things. He'd claimed it was a reminder to lift with her knees, not her back.

In less than four hours they'd moved everything that she wanted at the townhouse and she'd spent the rest of the day unpacking while the three men ate pizza and drank beer while watching football. To his credit, Wilson had volunteered to help her, but what she was unpacking was mostly clothing and personal things so it had seemed simpler to do it herself. She'd caught herself glancing at House for his tacit approval as she'd moved a book here or an antique medical bag there. He'd ended up grabbing her by the wrist as she'd passed , and telling her that she could stop looking like a visitor and start looking like she owned the place, oh and by the way, part ownership included getting him another beer while she was up.

They'd made love that night with the slow, easy cadence of a classical waltz, where every step is predetermined, but still elegant and beautiful. The touches they'd shared had been over skin already mapped and memorized, yet eagerly re-explored. House hadn't muttered any welcome home sentiments to her, and she hadn't told him how glad she was to be home. They'd just fallen asleep barely touching, as usual, and woken to each others presence as if it had always been that way and would continue to be for the foreseeable future.

The day of New Year's Eve had been low-key as well, with Cameron doing a little more unpacking, and sorting, while House played the piano and read medical journals. Dinner was the American tradition of Chinese food, eaten in front of the television where cheesy New Year's Eve specials kept House snarking and rolling his eyes. He'd disappeared into the kitchen at ten and come back with the champagne and two wine glasses, because he might buy the liquor but he wasn't going to buy special glasses for it. An hour later and they were both pleasantly warmed from the inside as well as by the fire.

"Can this moron be any more annoying?" House said with obvious annoyance as he motioned towards the television where an undeniably irritating host was acting much too excited about the tepid pop band that was about to perform.

Cameron took another sip of her drink and curled her feet beneath herself. "You know that questions like that almost always have 'yes' as their factual answer," she said.

He gave a mild scowl in her direction. "You're living here now. That means you have to blindly agree with everything I say."

She snickered and reached over to top off his glass. "Oh, is that how it works?"

"As far as I'm concerned, yes," he replied, taking a drink and then poking her in the side to get her attention again.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just felt like annoying you the way that moron is annoying me."

"It's working," she said, but then she just shook her head in an amused sort of way and switched the channel.

It was eleven thirty-five and the station she'd switched to was showing the crowds at Times Square. It was a complex, interweaving, chaotic mass of people, all screaming and celebrating the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. Cameron put the remote down and stared at the television, listening to people cite their hopes and dreams for the future. Pat, pedantic things like world peace, help for the starving children, personal love and happiness. She watched and listened and thought about how much the past year had taken and given to her. A piece of her innocence lost, and peace of mind shattered, but in its place, a relationship she'd barely thought possible and a new sense of peace that she hadn't even imagined.

House was watching the same thing, but thinking something very different. He saw the crowds and the throng of humanity, most of whom he knew he'd hate on sight, and he thought about how Cameron could be there. She could be in Boston. In Hartford. Anywhere, with anyone. But she was sitting on his sofa, dressed in yoga pants and a loose sweater, drinking cheap champagne with the necklace he'd bought her twinkling in the firelight. He didn't realize he'd cleared his throat until she looked at him questioningly.

"Another complaint to lodge?" she said lightly.

"No. Not this time," he said, and then shifted slightly, subtly, bringing himself just a fraction closer to her.

She saw some of the things she'd been feeling reflected in his eyes, and wondered if he could see the same in hers. The frank amazement that they had come so far, and the fears and doubts that, though fading, were not completely gone. Moving in couldn't alleviate them; only time could. For once, she didn't second guess herself when she thought that they'd have plenty of that.

The clock started ticking down and the shouts and cheers from the television began getting louder and more raucous. Cameron and House watched as that flashing, gaudy symbol of the old year started falling, and they each glanced at the other at the same time.

"Happy new year," Cameron said, raising her glass as the ball touched down and the fireworks began.

House wasn't interested in toasting. He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting the sweet drink on her lips and tongue. "Looks like it," he commented, and then turned off the television and headed to the bedroom, knowing that she'd be right behind him.

Knowing that she'd change and brush her teeth and wash her face, and curl into their bed beside him. Knowing that he'd be able to wake in the morning, roll over and see her. Knowing that he was actually looking forward to the new year for a change.


	22. Chapter 21

This story is really winding down now... just one more chapter plus an epilogue... and as usual I find myself getting a bit nostalgic. I've really enjoyed writing this one and I hope that you've all enjoyed reading it. Your comments have just been wonderful and I've valued every one. Thank you all!

* * *

**Chapter 21**

January turned into February, turned into March, and life at the townhouse and PPTH settled down into the sometimes bizarre pattern which was considered normal by House, Cameron and those around them. After a week, Foreman stopped ribbing House about becoming domestic, and after a month, Wilson figured that the honeymoon period was over, and went back to hanging out watching football at the townhouse on Sunday afternoons. Chase hit on Parker and was rebuffed, leaving House with someone to snark on, as if he ever needed a reason for that. Cameron adjusted to life in a different department but her path frequently crossed with her old colleagues, and not just when House was passing through the Immunology lounge to get coffee. She even got used to seeing someone else sitting at her old desk.

Life at home with House had taken much less time to adjust to. After practically living together for months, the formalized arrangement was almost anticlimactic, but anticlimactic in the most comforting of ways. Before long she had a hard time imagining the days when she would drive to her own apartment at the end of the day, instead of his. There were moments when she would catch him looking at her and think that he was considering the same thing.

Perfection wasn't in their relationship vocabulary, however, and along with the tender glances, there were also irrational arguments, which they'd never had before. One centered on House's habit of tossing his dirty clothes towards the corner of the bedroom rather than into the clothes hamper and occurred about a week and a half after New Year's Eve. It had been the end of a long day at the hospital for both of them, and House had collapsed on the bed without even bothering with dinner. Cameron had come in half an hour later, spotted his clothes balled up in the corner and glared at him.

"I'm not picking those up," she'd said.

To which House had rationally replied, "Who asked you to?"

"Well you keep throwing them there as if you think I'm the maid."

"I've been throwing them there for five years. I've also been known to leave the toilet seat up and clip my toenails in bed. You know this."

"Yes, but that was before."

"Before? Ah, so the truth comes out. You really do want to change me."

"I just want you to pick up your clothes."

"And why didn't you ever tell me that before?"

"Because I wasn't living here," the sentence started loud and ended softly.

A nod had followed, and then he'd tossed back the covers and ushered her into bed. He'd continued to leave the toilet seat up every once in a while, usually in the middle of the night, but he put his clothes in the hamper.

Another fight had concerned Cameron's exercise habit. Since starting a relationship woth House, she'd taken to doing her daily or every-other-day running at the hospital gym, but when she'd moved in with him, her treadmill had come too, and she'd started jogging every morning before going to work. House had come in one day and slammed his cane against the machine, telling her that it was disturbing his sleep, shaking the plaster and rattling the windows. He'd softened his tirade by then telling her that he could think of exercises she could do in bed with him.

Cameron had been surprised by his outburst, but then she'd remembered the running magazines she'd found stuffed in the back of his closet. It was probably a memory best forgotten, and she'd gone back to working out at the hospital.

But both of those fights, and the handful of similar or smaller ones had happened within the first month. Now it was three months later and Wilson called them an old unmarried couple while he ate Cameron's homemade guacamole and drank House's imported beer. The funny part wasn't that he would make such a remark, it was that neither of them bothered to contradict him.

Neither of them could deny that they felt they'd reached a new level in their relationship. They didn't talk about it, they didn't even think about it, but it was there in the unspoken things and in the looks and touches that casually filled their moments together.

Despite all that had happened during those months that comprised winter, House still thought that particular season had gone on long enough. He hated the slippery sidewalks and tile floors made slick from melting snow. He also hated that for the most part, he and Cameron had been forced to commute in her car because his Corvette just wasn't up to par when it came to driving in the snow. Cameron had suggested putting on heavy snow tires, but that had been met with a withering look. The 'vette had classic custom wheels and he wasn't switching them out for some hulks from the Michelin man.

With that in mind, the weather, as March melted into April, had become a prime concern of his, and so he was in a particularly good mood after catching the tail end of the weather report in the clinic waiting room. The temperatures were expected to skyrocket over the weekend, and he was looking forward to taking his car for a spin with the top down. Cameron would probably say it was still too cold for that, but he was pretty sure that he'd be able to convince her. He knew all the best ways to wheedle her into doing what he wanted. He chose to ignore the fact that she was pretty adept at doing the same to him.

He was actually whistling a little tune as he strode down the hall to his office, and the cheerful notes hung in the air when he swung his door open and saw Cameron sitting behind his desk.

All the blinds were closed and the lights were off and there she was in his chair, staring into the distance.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, knowing that something wrong.

"Needed some privacy," she replied and her voice had a distant, hollow quality that House hadn't heard in a very long time and wasn't keen on hearing again.

"Patient die?" he asked, straight to the point.

"No."

"Then what? You just decided to come squat in my office?"

"With the blinds down I figured people would think you were in here sulking and wouldn't dare come in," she said, but the humorous tone she had meant to use, was sorely lacking.

"As opposed to you being in here sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"Right."

Cameron stood up and walked across the room and without saying another word, wrapped her arms around House's waist and pressed her face against his chest. She was holding on as if her life depended on it, and House instinctively brought his arms up to hold her tightly.

"Allison, what's wrong?" he asked, the confusion written on his face along with concern.

"Just hold me for a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

That minute stretched to more than five before Cameron's grip relaxed and she slowly pulled away, smoothing wrinkles from a shirt that was rumpled long before her embrace. House brought his left hand up to capture her nervous fingers and she looked up at him.

"Ready to tell me what's wrong now?" He watched as even that mildly asked question made some of the color drain from her face and his hand tightened in an automatic show of protectiveness. "What happened?"

"I got a letter today," she said with a hitch in her voice. A slim hand reached to pull the envelope out of her lab coat pocket. "Lauren brought it over."

"Lauren?"

"She's the one renting my apartment, remember?"

Of course such details had not been catalogued in his mind, but he nodded as he took the letter.

"So what's the problem with this letter? Old bill?" he asked, just as his eyes lit on the return address. He fell silent and wondered if the cold feeling in his chest was at all similar to what Cameron had felt when it had been handed to her. "What the hell is this?" he was asking at the same time he was pulling the letter free with enough force to tear the flap off the envelope.

He unfolded it and started to read, but Cameron backed away from him, not wanting to have it so near to her. As he read, his fingers tightened on the yellow, lined paper, and he had to force himself to read through both pages.

"How the fuck was he allowed to send this?" his voice was just below a shout and he tossed the letter at his desk, ignoring it when it fluttered to the floor.

Cameron had grown paler and she was shaking her head back and forth. "I don't know," she answered, all the strength had gone from her voice and she hated it. She cleared her throat and pressed her lips together before continuing. "I called the DA, but he wasn't in the office. He's supposed to get back to me, but I don't know what to do about it. I know he's not up for parole for years, and there isn't any other way he could get out, is there?"

Her eyes took on a terrified look as the office door opened, blinds rattling, and she turned to face the window, clutching her arms around her chest.

"Hey, House, you want to--" Wilson froze as he saw the strange tableau before him. Cameron practically shaking, and House with a look of rage on his face that he'd seen only a few times in all their years of friendship.

"Get out," House said sharply.

"What's going on here?"

"I said, get out!"

Wilson wasn't sure what to do. First instinct was to leave, but he didn't want to leave Cameron in the office with House acting the way he was.

"House, I'm not leaving you two together until I know what's going on," Wilson said emphatically, hands on hips.

The older man swiped his hand over his face and took a deep breath before looking at his friend with a much calmer but still disturbed look on his face.

"Dammit, Jimmy, we're not fighting."

Wilson's eyes flickered to Cameron who had turned slightly so that he could see her profile.

"It's okay," she said. "I'll make him call you later."

The air in the room was so charged with emotions that even the brief silences seemed to echo in each person's ear. Wilson looked at House again and nodded his head.

"Sorry I barged in," he said, and then backed out of the office, shutting the door firmly as he passed through it.

They were silent after his departure but House limped the few steps around his desk to Cameron's side. He draped his arm around her shoulder, trying to make it seem like it was the most natural action in the world. She was just glad for the warm feeling of protection that fell around her at his touch.

"You didn't have to yell at him."

"I was pissed off."

"But not at him."

"Yeah, but he got in the way. Common cause of innocent casualties."

Cameron let her head rest against House's shoulder and he looked down at her, more surprised at that action than at his own arm-draping move. He couldn't quite see the depth of her eyes, but the tight lines of her face and the way her sparse sprinkling of freckles stood out were signs of her fear. He remembered the question she'd asked just before Wilson's interruption.

"He's not getting out," he said firmly. "You know that."

"I do," she said quietly. "It just really sucks that it turns out he can hurt me even when he can't touch me. I mean, I guess he's been doing that all along, with every memory of that night, and I dealt with them and worked through them. But this…" She trailed off and then spoke again. "It's been almost a year, you know."

"I know." Of course he knew. It wasn't a date he was likely to forget. It was the one thing he'd been regretting about the coming of spring.

"This is not going to happen again," he said vehemently. "The fucker will be lucky to have crayons and a year old newspaper after the prison warden hears what he did. That letter broke another law. Not too bright of the asshole."

"He didn't actually threaten me."

"He came close enough." Too close. Much too close. With his smarmy apology riddled with details of that night, and his promise that such a thing would never have happened if he'd had help earlier. That he wouldn't have had the overwhelming desire to violate her in several vaguely detailed, but detailed enough ways. That killing her would have been the furthest thing from his mind. That if he had the chance to see her now that he wouldn't dream of touching her in any untoward way. But House could read between those lines, and he knew that Cameron could too. He had a feeling that a prison official wouldn't be too tough to convince.

House glanced down at Cameron's still too-pale face and nudged her hip with his cane. "Let's blow this pop stand," he said and she nodded and turned from the window.

As they were exiting his office, she touched his hand lightly, just to feel his warm strength.

"You think we could take your car for a drive when we get home?" she asked.

"That could probably be arranged."

"With the top down?"

"Is there any other way to drive it?" he said in mock surprise.

They reached the elevators and she touched his hand again.

"Thanks."

He looked her in the eye, holding her gaze until he knew she could read everything in his mind. "Not a problem," he said, and he was referring to more than just the car ride.

* * *

They drove the Corvette around the New Jersey countryside until well after the sun had departed. At first the mild air swished around and over them like a continuous caress, tugging at Cameron's hair, forcing color back into her face. She started off talking about mundane things -- hospital business, clinic patients, what they needed to get at the grocery store -- and for once, he just went along with the flow of conversation without interjecting any biting remarks. They were about half an hour outside Princeton when she fell silent and just watched the newly-green fields as they sped past. House didn't turn the car back towards town until he noticed her shivering. 

"I think your old jacket's in the back. You must have left it there a while ago," he said, jerking his chin towards his right shoulder.

Cameron twisted herself around and saw the bulky barn-jacket in question lying on the floor behind the passenger's seat. She knew she wouldn't have left it there. She hadn't even worn it since October, long before House stopped taking the Corvette. Still, she didn't thank him for tossing it in the car when she'd run to change out of her work clothes. She just grabbed it up and pulled it around her shoulders, over the thin leather jacket she was already wearing.

"What're you going to feel like for dinner? It's getting too late to cook."

The landscape they were driving through had grown dark, with the fields turned impossible to make out and distantly spaced houses providing the only light other than their own headlights and occasionally another car. They drove around a wide, snaking curve and then up a hill and at the top they could look into the distance and see the pale yellow glow of lights from Princeton.

"Whatever you want," Cameron answered, shrugging and tugging the edges of her worn jacket closer.

It had to be at least fifteen years old. She could remember wearing it on the farm, and at college, and medical school. She should have replaced it, but the cotton had softened with age, and she'd just kept telling herself that she'd get a new one eventually. Thinking of House and his well-worn band t-shirts and rumpled oxfords that she could never convince him to toss out even when buttons popped off and were lost, she knew that he hadn't just picked a jacket at random when he'd decided to bring one along for her.

"Last week you said you wanted to try that new Thai place."

"And you said you hate Thai food because of the curry," she replied with something of her usual attitude.

"Yeah, well, I was talking to Wilson yesterday and he convinced me that it wasn't the same as Indian food curry."

"It took you forty years to be convinced of that?"

"Slow learner," he said with a smirk, and the decision was made.

Cameron decided that she wanted to eat at home instead of the restaurant, so they ordered and then sat in the stiff-backed little chairs beside the front counter, waiting for their order to come up. Against the front wall, there was an aquarium with koi better suited to a pond, and the rest of the walls were covered with prints that had probably come from "Thai Restaurants R Us," but the food smelled delicious, and most of the patrons were Asian, which was always a good sign.

At home, they unpacked the food and Cameron, as usual, insisted on using plates, but just rolled her eyes when House proceeded to eat his coconut chicken curry out of the white cardboard container. She had vegetable pad thai, with fresh, wide sen yai noodles, and she concentrated on eating it and keeping track of the action on General Hospital.

House turned off the television as soon as she put down her plate, and the episode was only half over.

"Wanna talk now, or later?" he asked. Talking, serious talking, was not his strong suit, but as with most other things, he still got right to the point.

She looked over at him, still tasting a hint of tamarind and garlic on the lower lip she pinched between her teeth. She released it almost at once, and sighed, embarrassed that she'd reverted to such an old nervous habit.

"Might as well be now."

"Feel any better than before?"

"Yes," she replied. "The drive was nice."

"That all you're going to say?" he asked, fingers flexing around the neck of the beer bottle he was holding, in lieu of his cane.

"I'm not sure what else _to_ say. The letter was a shock. More of a shock than I guess I would have imagined." She shrugged. "I always think I'm getting over it."

"Never gonna happen," House said, not harshly, but bluntly. "Not completely."

"I know," she said, equally resolute.

"That bastard's not going to hurt you again though. You do believe that, right?" He ducked his head to look into her eyes.

"Yes. But I still don't want any more letters."

House took a swig of his beer and put the bottle down on the side table with a hollow thunk. "I'll call around tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I know people who know people," he said with characteristically waggling eyebrows.

"No," she said, freezing his humorous expression. "It has to be me. I can do it myself," she continued, and there were shades of a time long passed when she'd said the same thing about the trial that had put Anthony Prentis in prison.

"I never thought you couldn't."

"No, you never did," she said, looking up at him with an expression of open wonder at the fact that through everything, even way back then, he had never treated her as fragile. She felt emotion welling in her throat and chest, and inched herself closer so that she could lean her head next to his shoulder and avoid his intense gaze.

"All right then," he said, letting his arm fall off the back of the sofa to drape over her shoulders. "You can deal with the DA and the prison officials. And if that doesn't work, I have a few lower-class friends of friends who have even lower-class friends in prison who can get the point across to him in simpler terms if necessary. In fact, I think a message from them would be good even if it isn't necessary," he elaborated.

Cameron reached over and grabbed the remote, turning the television back on. Then she let out a very long sigh and let herself enjoy the feeling of warm protection and love that House surrounded her with in his gruff and sarcastic fashion.


	23. Chapter 22

Here it is... the final chapter. There will be an epilogue to follow, but this is really the end of the journey. It's been four months since I started this story, and I've enjoyed writing it that entire time, in part because of the wonderful feedback I got from all of you. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22**

April Fifteenth. A war in her mind often waged because of that date. She wanted to forget everything about it, but couldn't deny the fact that if the traumatic events of that day hadn't happened, she wouldn't be driving to the hospital with a diamond gift from House dangling from her neck and the memory of his lips kissing her awake that morning.

In more fanciful moods, she could tell herself that some nebulous fate would have brought them together somehow. She knew though, that it had been this day, one year ago, that had set things in motion and changed so much for her, for him, even for the people around them. How could she wish for it never to have happened? She couldn't. But she could wish for the memories to be duller than they were, for the reminders to be less stark, and painful. For the anniversary not to fill her with such dread.

She'd spent idle moments during the past week reciting the litany of good things that had occurred in the past year, and had tried to concentrate on them. She'd tried not thinking about it at all, but that had proven futile. She could at least look at herself and be proud of the woman staring back at her. The eyes that looked at her appraisingly were still filled with strength, now forged from adversity.

Through nightmares, fears, pain and self-doubt, she had held herself together. She'd allowed herself to lean on the support of the cane-wielding misanthrope whose presence was now so integral to her life, but she'd been careful not to let herself just curl beneath his sheltering banner of formidable protectiveness, even on those days when it had seemed so inviting. She knew that probably frustrated House as much as it made him admire her, as evidenced by his recent habit of teasingly calling her a little barracuda.

House rarely asked if she was okay. He would look at her out of the corner of his eye, or bump her in the kitchen when he saw her looking too thoughtful, or run a teasing hand up her side when she got into bed and faced away from him. They were small touches that he used in place of words and as Cameron drove into work she thought of how many times he'd given her one over the last few weeks.

It wasn't that she'd grown quiet or withdrawn since receiving Anthony Prentis' letter; in fact, she'd been more likely to discuss how it was affecting her. She'd been to visit the DA, had written to the prison warden, and had submitted paperwork to permanently bar Prentis from ever contacting her again. At every stage, she'd told House what was going on, and how long things would take, and who was involved. Aside from a few choice swear words directed at her attacker, House had kept himself outwardly aloof as he often did when things didn't directly affect him. It was his way of proving that he knew she could handle everything. And those subtle, wordless actions were his way of telling her that he was there for her if she couldn't.

Today was the first day she'd almost turned to him and told him that she wasn't okay at all. Her body was full of nervous energy and she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and muttered under her breath at slower drivers on the street. It was as if she couldn't help thinking that something horrible was going to happen to mark the day. Irrational as that was, it was still a thought at the back of her mind. Systematically, she went through her list of patients currently at the hospital, trying to think if there was something she'd missed with any of them. Her thoroughness as a doctor didn't do her any favors this time. If she'd thought of a possible slight drug interaction or missed symptom, then she might have been able to settle down and convince herself that it was what was making her so antsy, but there was nothing.

She turned down the street that led to the hospital and wished that she'd asked House if they could drive in together. After kissing her awake, which he often did when he wanted a little early morning 'happy', he'd brought her the newspaper and coffee in bed, which he never did. She knew the reason for the change had to be the date. If she'd asked him for a ride to the hospital, he would have lobbed a sarcastic remark about being happy to do his part to get women drivers off the road. He would have complained about her taste in music during the drive, even though he actually liked most of the singers she preferred. He would have made the day feel normal.

With a deep sigh, she drove into the PPTH garage. It was still fairly empty when she pulled into her usual parking spot and she spotted Wilson's car a few spaces down. As she walked through the cavernous space and into the hospital, she hoped for a busy day.

* * *

The day promised to be a beautiful one, full of sunshine and warm breezes, but Wilson left the pediatric oncology ward knowing that most of his patients wouldn't be getting out to experience it. If he let himself dwell on that, it would be easy to become depressed, but twenty years in his field had allowed him to build up certain tolerances to the inevitable pathos inherent in his day to day job. He had at least two people to give good news to, and that was what he concentrated on instead. They, at least, would be able to breathe the fresh air with a new sense of hope.

He made his way down the hall, down the elevator and towards the clinic to grab some paperwork he'd inadvertently left at the nurses' station. A visit led to a quick chat with the doctors and nurses on duty and a check to make sure he still wasn't scheduled that afternoon, and then he turned to head back to his own office and his ten o'clock appointment. That was when he saw House come through the sliding glass doors, and his eyebrows involuntarily twitched together in an expression of surprise.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as the taller man approached, limping gait slightly quicker than usual.

"Strange as it may be to believe, I still work here," House replied.

"I know that, but it's the fifteenth."

House gave him his patented 'stop telling me the obvious' look, and replied with, "Yes, that date does generally fall between the fourteenth and the sixteenth."

"House, you can't tell me that you don't know what day it is." Wilson was visibly frustrated. He was almost knocked off his feet when House pivoted, stepped in front of him and stared him down.

"Yes, I do know what day it is," House said, tone as hard as granite. "I'm a bastard most of the time, but it may surprise you to know that I have a very clear memory of watching Cameron's bloody body wheeled in here at eight-seventeen p.m. by two EMTs who looked like they'd barely finished high school. I also remember watching her die on the table in front of me, putting my hand in her chest, and spending an hour scrubbing her blood off my hands." He stabbed his cane hard against the floor as he made each point, and stared straight into Wilson's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, his expression clearly contrite. "I was just surprised to see you here. I figured you and Cameron might take the day off."

House drew in a steadying breath and his temper ratcheted down a notch. He wasn't really angry with Wilson, he was angry with a man he couldn't touch or yell at. "I'm working on it," he said.

"Working on it?"

"Just don't expect to see either of us for the rest of the day," he said as he started walking again. He had a few calls to make.

* * *

Up in Immunology, Cameron had just finished making her rounds. All of the patients on the ward were doing well, and while it didn't look like she'd be getting the busy day she'd hoped for, she couldn't feel too badly about it. Her schedule for the afternoon was fairly light, with just a few out-patient appointments, and she told herself that if she started getting anxious, she'd just go down and work in the clinic. Nothing like getting vomited on by toddlers, and talked to death by those who chose to self-diagnose via the web, to get her mind off things.

She dropped off her patient notes at the nurses' station and was headed towards her office when her pager started going off. The little wrinkle between her eyes deepened as she looked down at it in surprise and lifted it from its belt clip. Flipping it open, she saw a short message. 'SOS - HSE'. Apparently something was going on down in the Diagnostics department, and she quickly told the head nurse on duty where she was going and hurried towards the elevators.

Her foot was tapping against the floor and her eyes were trained on the dimly lit circular buttons above the doors. In her head she counted down the floors, and was poised to step out as soon as the button for the third floor lit up. She looked up in surprise when the doors opened, revealing House standing there. The surprise stayed on her face when he joined her in the elevator and hit the button to force close the doors.

"What's going on? You paged me. I thought there was an emergency. Is it someone being brought in by ambulance?"

"Nope, it's a kidnapping," House said, very matter-of-factly.

"A kidnapping victim? Who found him? The police?"

"Not a victim," House elaborated, "a kidnapping in progress. Yours as a matter of fact."

Cameron's eyes opened wider and she looked up at him and saw a slight twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"House, I'm working. I have patients. I can't just leave."

"Actually, yes you can," he told her. "I've already talked to that slave-driving boss of yours and promised Cuddy an extra week of clinic duty. We're off for the day."

In fact, Cuddy had voluntarily given House the day off with her blessing, but he wasn't going to start spreading gossip about her actually being nice.

"You planned this ahead of time?"

"Enough talk. You're being kidnapped, remember? Don't try anything funny and I won't have to use my cane on you," he said, raising it in a half-heartedly menacing move.

Cameron didn't say anything else, but she took a small step closer to his side.

The two of them walked through the clinic and when a nurse made a move to call to them, House made a rude gesture in her general direction and ushered Cameron out ahead of him. Walking out through the side door and down the little hall and through the double doors to the garage, House kept himself within a step if Cameron, but didn't actually touch her. The door they went through led to a side area of the garage that they rarely parked in because it was further from the elevators.

Cameron looked around for the Corvette, surprised that House had taken them on such a roundabout route, but guessing that it was all part of his "kidnapping" ploy.

"This way," House said, walking past her and heading towards the corner.

There weren't any cars parked over there because it was the area reserved for motorcycles. It was conveniently close to the doors, but had smaller spots so that they didn't take up as much space. Cameron looked at him askance and followed him as he passed a silver Honda sport bike and a fully loaded BMW cruiser which she'd seen one of the surgeons riding. He stopped in front of a black, retro-style bike with leather saddlebags and two helmets attached to the rear seat sissy bar with a cable lock.

"What is this?" Cameron asked, immediately knowing that he'd respond with some sort of sarcastic quip.

"Funny, I didn't realize you'd led such a sheltered life," he said, predictable he knew, but still unable to resist.

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, what are you doing with it? What's going on?"

"Told you. Kidnapping," he replied as he unlocked the helmets and tossed one to her before opening one of the saddlebags and pulling out a leather jacket. He threw that to her too, and she did a quick juggling move to catch it without dropping the helmet. "This is the getaway vehicle."

"This is yours?"

"It is now. Bought it two days ago. Now hop on and hold on tight." He put on his helmet, slid his cane into a couple of custom mounts on the right side of the bike and swung his leg over in a move that, while not exactly graceful, appeared much more natural than Cameron would have expected.

She was still shaking her head in bemusement as she slipped into the new jacket which was a perfect fit, and tucked her pocketbook into the saddlebag. He wasn't going to explain anything else at the moment. There was only a second of hesitation before she grabbed onto House's shoulders for balance, stepped up onto the rear seat foot-peg and climbed aboard. Settling herself onto the seat behind him was unnerving and exciting and strangely comforting all at the same time. She'd had a friend in college whose boyfriend had given her rides once in a while, but her youthful enthusiasm in taking that slight step on the wild side hadn't made her heart race nearly as fast as it was now.

House reached back and grabbed her wrists, pulling her forward and forcing her arms to wrap around his midsection.

"I believe I told you to hold on," he said, and then revved the engine to life, kicked off and sped down the aisle and out of the garage.

It normally took between fifteen and twenty minutes to drive out of Princeton, but House steered the bike expertly between cars and in and out of lanes, missing all the lights, and barely pausing for the stop signs. They had the hospital, the university and everything else in their rear view mirror within ten minutes.

Even with the helmet on, Cameron could feel the rush of air tugging at her hair as it rippled over and around them. As each minute passed she felt tense muscles letting go and dark thoughts moving back to the shadows, until all that occupied her consciousness was the smell of leather and springtime, the warm strength of House's body, and the roar of the machine that held them both.

House, with his fingers wrapped firmly around the handlebars, eyes fixed on the road and reading every dip and turn ahead of time, was also acutely aware of Cameron at his back. He felt when she relaxed and leaned against him more, and the slight, subtle shift of her hands around his waist. He knew that the rumbling of the engine was what was thrumming through him, but he imagined he could feel her heart beat when she held tight around a sweeping curve. He even thought that he could smell her hair.

No matter how inept he had been with her at times, and no matter how sarcastic and misanthropic and self-absorbed everyone knew he could be, he had never taken the feel of her body against his for granted. That very first night he'd held her hand in the hospital without her knowledge had been the start of him never taking it for granted. He knew how close he'd come to never touching more of her than her naked heart. He knew he held it now in an entirely different way, but it didn't feel like any less of a responsibility. A responsibility that he was now unashamed to admit to himself that he was happy to bear.

Maybe he would even admit it to a few other people.

It had startled him how angry he'd become at Wilson at the idea that he could have forgotten what day it was. The not-so-subtle insinuation being that he still held himself and his needs at such a level above everyone else that he wouldn't know what was going on with Cameron. Wilson's apologetic look had told him that the man didn't really think that, but the subtle accusation had still struck a bad chord.

For all intents and purposes, he was the same man now that he had been a year ago. He still mixed his moments of brilliance at the hospital with bitter sarcasm, insults and brutal honesty. He still made fun of Wilson's ties, and Cuddy's cleavage, and Chase's accent. Mooching food off of Wilson had decreased only slightly and in direct proportion to the amount he now mooched off of Cameron. Most of the nurses still feared him, the other doctors grudgingly admired him in between scoffing at his unorthodox ways, and he went through his days very much the same way he always had: speaking loudly and still carrying a big stick.

But all of that was his professional life. It was the only life he'd imagined himself capable of for over five years. A lot had changed in a year. He still woke up in pain, but he didn't wake up alone. Cameron hadn't exactly dulled his sharp edges, but she had inspired him to use them with slightly more caution outside the walls of the hospital. She'd seen a softer side of him and he'd seen a stronger side of her. He'd opened up to her as much as he'd ever opened up to anyone. More. And it wasn't because she'd asked him too, or used girly pouts or tricks to wrap him around her finger. It was because he'd wanted to. He'd wanted the release that came with actually showing emotions. With caring for another person. With loving another person.

That was why Wilson's ill-thought remark had triggered such an extreme response. He didn't want everyone to know of the changes in his life and his priorities, but he expected certain people to know. Wilson was one of those people, and given that man's reaction to his outburst, as well as his almost annoying level of support he figured that he'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

The other person was Allison Cameron, the small, surprisingly feisty woman who was currently clinging to him. He'd given her a few reasons to doubt his commitment but after just a few initial bumps, she never had. She'd doubted herself and the situation and life in general, but not him. It was something he still found somewhat unbelievable. When Wilson had asked him if he'd forgotten what day it was, for just a flash of an instant, he'd wondered if Cameron had thought the same thing, but that idea had flown almost as soon as it had landed, because he knew that while she didn't expect him to be perfect, and even expected him to hurt her inadvertently on occasion, she also knew his biggest secret. The misanthropic bastard held her deepest needs above his own.

An hour past and the sleek motorcycle sped past little towns and larger cities and then down a series of ever-smaller roads that passed under arching tree branches and beside crumbling stone walls. The deteriorating condition of the roads made House decrease speed and Cameron sat up a bit straighter and looked around, wondering where on Earth he was taking them. She didn't have too much longer to wonder because House suddenly turned off the paved road and onto a dirt service road that led to a wide empty field. There wasn't a house or a barn anywhere in sight, and there was just a sea of long grass waving in the light breeze and surrounded by trees.

House cut the engine and the silence that followed was profound. Without saying anything, they each got off the bike and removed their helmets, looking around at the surroundings and each other. Cameron was the one to finally break the silence as she shook her head and looked at him quizzically.

"Where are we? And why did you bring us here?"

House limped a few paces from the bike, looking at the field, at the trees, at the pebble-strewn dirt they had just driven over.

"Looks just the same," he commented.

"You've been here before?"

"About six years ago. Yeah. Rode another motorcycle up here."

Cameron's mouth pricked up into a smile and she squinted in the sunshine. "I had a feeling this wasn't your first."

"Nope."

"But why did you come up here back then? And why now?"

He seemed overly interested in his cane and the way it made silvery lines through the grass as he swung it. He kept his eyes on it instead of on her and she knew he was trying to decide whether or not he really wanted to tell her what he was thinking about. She wasn't stupid. Six years ago was just after his infarction and she knew that whatever his reason for bringing her to a field in the middle of nowhere, it had something to do with that.

"I have my anniversaries too," he said abruptly. "I spent the first one here." Cameron didn't say anything, but she kept her gaze focused on him and waited for him to look up and catch her eye. It didn't take long, and then it appeared that he came to a final decision in his mind and his words came faster. "I'd had a bike before the infarction. Rode it everywhere as long as it wasn't raining, snowing or freezing cold. After the infarction, I wouldn't even look at it. I sure as hell wasn't going to ride around on it with a cane strapped to the side. I spent a year turning myself into an even more miserable bastard than I'd already been. People will tell you I didn't change much, but that's because I'd never let them close to me in the first place. I'd always acted miserable, but I hadn't always _been_ miserable. Not that miserable, anyway."

Cameron had moved closer, and they were both leaning against the low stone wall and looking out over the field with the bike right in front of them. She turned towards him and saw the shades of memory in his eyes.

"You rode that old bike up here."

"On my first anniversary," he said, the words still bitter in his mouth. "Not a year after the day I was diagnosed, but a year after the day I woke up with only half of my right thigh," he told her. "And I still didn't strap a cane to the side of the bike. I used my old lacrosse stick and fastened it on with duct tape. Then I came up here. I just found the place accidentally, and I drove into this field and got off and beat that motorcycle until it was barely more than scrap metal. When I was done, I called Wilson and made him drive all the way up here to get me."

The way Cameron's throat had closed, prevented her from speaking, and she swallowed hard a few times, surprised by how emotional she was getting just thinking about House all those years ago, alone and bitter and angry with life and everything in it. House hadn't told her the story to win her sympathy, but he knew how she was and knew how she would react, and he covered her hand with his and didn't expect her to say anything for a few minutes.

"So that's why you brought me up here?" she said, when the pricking behind her eyes had subsided. "So that I could destroy another motorcycle? I really don't think I have it in me to hurt such a cool ride," and she looked up and saw a smirk appearing on House's face.

"No, I don't think we'll be sacrificing the bike today," he agreed. "I was alone when I came up here. If I'd had more guts I'd have brought a gun and finished what the infarction started, but my ego wouldn't let me. I brought you up here because I didn't want you thinking you were alone. Not today. You've got this big open field all to yourself. You can scream bloody murder out here and I'm the only one who'll hear you. And when you're done, we'll get back on the bike and we'll go get something to eat, and then we'll go home." Home. The word felt slightly odd in his mouth and he realized it was the first time he'd said it since Cameron had moved in.

"Will I feel like this every year?" Cameron asked, already knowing the answer. Every year would be a little better, but nothing would ever completely erase what had happened to her.

"Some years will be better than others," House said, honestly.

"For you too?" she asked, acknowledging what no one else had; that he was almost as affected by her attack as she was.

"Yeah, I think so."

She nodded and turned her hand in his until she could grasp his firmly. "I think I'll be all right if you're around."

He squeezed her hand hard before releasing it and motioning for her to get up and go off into the field. "I don't plan on going anywhere," he said, and he watched her make her way to the middle of the grassy expanse, tilt back her head and scream.


	24. Epilogue

Wow. Here it is, the final post of BtS, and the final look at this little version of House and Cameron's life together. I just want to thank everyone for sticking it out for so long, even through parts that in hindsight I want to revise, and through numerous breaks because of my stupidly fluctuating health. I have to admit that knowing that there were readers out there sometimes kept me going, particularly when I was feeling sick or overwhelmed with other things... it was such a relief to be able to forget everything else and write and know that there would be people who would appreciate even the not-so-well-written parts!

As with the Saints and Saviors epilogue, I do have a small favor to ask, and that is, if you've been keeping up with this story, I'd very much appreciate hearing from you, especially if you've never commented before. It just gives me an idea of how many people have actually been reading. BUT, feel absolutely no obligation… I feel greedy even asking when I already get such lovely reviews as it is. Thanks again, and you can bet that I will be working on other House/Cameron stories in the future… I may even hear Steve whispering in my ear. :)

**Epilogue**

_Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.  
-Rilke_

It had been a good day. Chase had correctly diagnosed their patient, clinic duty had been avoided, he'd had lunch with Wilson -- which translated to Wilson buying him lunch -- and now it looked like he would make it home before it started to rain. As he steered his motorcycle around a slow-moving Mercedes and opened up the throttle to speed off  
down the street, he reflected that most days had been good days, lately.

There had been some restless nights immediately following the trip to that old abandoned field with Cameron, but they had numbered fewer than either of them had expected. Pouring out all of her bottled up emotions to the clear blue sky had proven very cathartic. The nightmares had still come, as they'd known they would, but instead of just curling into  
House's embrace, she'd been able to talk about them within the dark safety of their room and his arms.

More surprising had been the nightmare that House had experienced. It had left him breathless, sweaty, and groping for Cameron's warm body in the night. She'd woken to his almost brutal kisses, and a glint of moonlight off his eyes had told her everything she needed to know. She'd just repeated that she was all right and then she'd placed his hand on the fading scar under her t-shirt. There hadn't been anything graceful about the coupling that followed. It had been too rushed and needy for that, but there had been no more nightmares afterwards.

That had all been over a month ago, and House knew that there would probably be moments and memories and that would temporarily push one or the other or both of them back into a dark frame of mind. The difference now was that he believed that such times were fleeting, and he felt that Cameron finally believed the same. The change had been subtle, but she seemed more carefree in ways he couldn't exactly pinpoint. He had to think that the doubts she'd harbored about her ability to actually lead a happy life had at long last been put to rest. The irony that she was the one who had always been more afraid of happiness than he was not lost on him.

The scent of rain tickled at his nose and he revved the engine up again and took a sharp corner onto a side street. It was a shortcut that would get him home in less than five minutes, but he still kept his eye on the looming rain clouds as he sped past older houses and one of the restaurants he and Cameron preferred. He pulled up in front of the townhouse, still ahead of the rain, and popped it right up onto the sidewalk and beside the front steps. He had a sheet of plastic waiting there and hastily tossed it over the bike; his concession to Cameron's little nag about him needing to take better care of it if he wanted it to last. He knew perfectly well that the bike could handle the rain just fine, but he also wasn't as cavalier about wet leather seats as he'd been in his youth.

With the bike covered and his briefcase slung over his shoulder, he limped around to the stairs and up to the front door, knowing that Cameron was already home, and feeling a distinct comfort in that knowledge. The door was locked, because she always locked it as soon as she got inside, but he already had his keys in his hand and only took a moment to open the door, standing there for a second as it swung open, and enjoying the sensation of homecoming. It was something he'd become a little addicted to over the past few months.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out in his most satirical voice. He heard a low chuckle from the kitchen and smirked, then dropped his bag from limp fingers as Cameron appeared in the doorway.

"Hard day at the office, dear?" she asked, a touch of coyness on her tongue.

"Nice dress," was how he replied, his eyes traveling from her face to her toes and all the satin-covered curves in between.

He was remembering the first time he'd seen it and how awkward and inadequate he'd felt standing beside her. He'd offered her a tentative compliment back then, but now his casual remark made her blush just the same.

"Thanks," she said, dropping character and letting a pleased smile spread between her pink-tinged cheeks. "I thought we should celebrate a happy milestone, for a change."

"If it means you, in that dress, I agree." He sounded like his usual cocky self, but the leering smile was softer around the edges, and his eyes lacked the harsh intensity that he leveled at everyone else.

"Did you even remember?" she asked, already knowing his answer.

"Of course," he said, almost gently, and then stepped back into character as he continued with, "I just wasn't sure if you were the hopeless romantic type who marks first dates and first kisses and first… other things." The corner of his mouth twitched upward suggestively,  
along with his eyebrow.

"It was the date I was thinking of," she said, with playful exasperation. One hand smoothed up her leg to land propped on her hip. "Although the… other things… were also worth remembering."

House limped forward until he was standing right in front of her and quickly slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her close. It was the kind of boldly affectionate move that Cameron had never expected from him at the start of their relationship. He'd never even expected it of himself. He stared down at her with open desire and only minimally concealed affection. He didn't waste as much effort on that anymore, at least not when they were alone.

"So what great plans do you have for us tonight?" he asked. He jerked his thumb towards the window at the rain that had just started. "I think monster truck rallies are out." His thoughts moved to that first date and his expression turned doubtful. "You weren't thinking of trying to actually make it through dinner at that fifty-dollar-a-plate restaurant we started off at that night, were you?" Her dress certainly indicated that she expected something better than Denny's this time.

She looked a tiny bit smug as she pressed a hand against his chest lightly. "No, I wasn't thinking that, so you can get that worried look off your face."

"Well that's a relief," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

A slight twinge of realization surfaced in his mind. He'd felt uncomfortable and conspicuous in that restaurant, imagining how unsuited he was for the woman at the table with him, and how the other patrons were judging him. Now he thought that if she wanted to, he would be able to proudly take her into that restaurant and give dirty looks to anyone who glanced at them awry.

Cameron let her hand drift from his chest to his shoulder where she straightened his collar before taking a step back. "I couldn't make up my mind about where to go, so I thought I'd let you decide. Or we can just stay here and order in. Either way, you get to enjoy me in this dress," she concluded with a sly look. She had a feeling which he would choose.

It took almost an hour and a fifty-dollar delivery charge for their food to arrive. It came from "their" little Italian restaurant, which didn't normally deliver. House had told Cameron that he didn't want to miss the pre-season baseball game on television. Strangely, he didn't go near the pile of remote controls, but he did break out a dusty bottle of Chateau Latour.

They ate in the living room, with the rain pouring down outside, accompanied by blasts of thunder so loud and close that the windows rattled, but neither of them cared or even noticed much until the power went out. House had to direct Cameron down to the basement where he knew an old Coleman lantern had been stored, and she came back up the stairs with smudges of dust on her face, and cobwebs in her hair, a halo of blue-white light surrounding her from the ancient lantern. It was enough to set the metallic filaments in her dress sparkling, and House poured them more wine and motioned her to his side with a slight tilt of his chin.

She tucked herself beside him, kicking off the heels she'd worn for the sole purpose of accentuating the line of her dress before propping her feet on the coffee table beside House's. When he handed her back her wine glass, she tapped it lightly against his, the light ringing sound pitched high above the thunder and rain. It had been sunny and beautiful out that night he'd first picked her up on an official date. She remembered the way the warm air had felt against her skin, and the slight nip as the sun had set and forced her to tug her shawl around her shoulders.

They'd laughed over dinner, and then been quiet at the jazz club, and then returned to her place where he'd accidentally seen her scar and sent her slamming the bedroom door. So many emotions in one night. Too many, almost, but she still felt that she didn't want to forget any of them. They'd both been cautious and nervous that night, and she'd felt so self-conscious about everything from her looks to the topics of conversation she chose. Another burst of thunder crashed above the townhouse, and Cameron leaned into House's side, the soft fabric of his shirt caressing her arm. There was no fear between them now, and no hesitation either. So much had happened between them in the past year that it was difficult to catalogue and define it all -- except to know that they were inside each other in a way that was deep and unexplainable.

"Good anniversary?" House asked, the sandpapery gruffness in his voice, and a strong hand toying with the fabric of her dress.

"Yes." She answered with the only word that mattered.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. Of course, monster trucks would have been good too."

"There's always next year," was her reply and he caught the tail end of her smirk even in the dim lantern light.

"True." He took a sip of wine that was more of a gulp and planted a nine-year-old boy's version of a kiss against her temple. "Ready for bed? Looks like the power's out for the night."

She stood up, wineglass still in hand, and reached down for him. "Thought you'd never ask," she said with that disarming smile of hers that could still make his stomach tighten in sweet anticipation.

"Great minds think alike, and all that," he quipped, accepting her hand as he would accept it from no one else. "You want the lantern?"

Her fingers slid naturally between his and squeezed lightly. "I know the way, and I don't think we'll be needing it once we get there."

House nodded and they walked down the hall to the bedroom. He stopped her outside the door and dropped his head to hers, kissing her deeply and not caring that they were both letting wine slosh onto the floor. When he drew back, her eyes were shining and he could still taste her on his lips.

"I could do with a few more years like this," he told her, voice pitched low and rumbling up from his chest.

Another slight squeeze from her hand and she grinned at him. "More than a few," she said, definitively.

His eyes met hers and held them for a moment. "I can do that," he replied, and they walked into the bedroom together and shut the door.

_While with an eye made quiet by the power  
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,  
We see into the life of things._  
-_Wordsworth_


End file.
